


With the Moon in His Arms

by miserylovedme



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Love at First Sight, M/M, Merpeople
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4309338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miserylovedme/pseuds/miserylovedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete is a merman who saves Patrick’s life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With the Moon in His Arms

**Author's Note:**

> I once used to write in bandom on lj under the name miserylovedme. The decision to delete my livejournal was a personal one and I apologize that it had the unfortunate side effect of upsetting people. I haven't been in bandom since 2008 and I didn't expect it to even be noticed, let alone the outcry that followed. I had no intention of reposting this story at all, so thank you to the people who cared enough to contact me and ask for it. I appreciate the continued support, even though I have long since left the fandom.
> 
> If you see this (or any of my works) posted elsewhere, please let me know. I have never given permission for my writing to be reposted.
> 
> Nothing has been edited since this work was originally posted, so please forgive any errors or potential grammar mistakes. If you used to read me back there, hello, again!
> 
>  
> 
> Original post date: 3.7.08 - 5.11.08

Patrick is acutely aware of the fact that he’s drowning.

Or about to drown, anyway.

A couple of his friends had decided that it was a good idea to take Joe’s boat out onto the lake this morning and just hang out. Of course someone brings beer and of _course_ Patrick ends up being the designated boat driver. And _of fucking course_ no one notices that when Joe’s obnoxious new girlfriend slams into him while he is leaning over the side to grab his hat before it soaks up enough water to sink, he falls overboard.

It isn’t that Patrick can’t swim, or even that he isn’t a good swimmer, because he is. It’s the fact that something is wound around his ankle and pulling him down. Movement is nearly impossible and his arms already hurt from fatigue. He can barely see the light from the surface anymore and he is just about ready to release his lungs last, strangled breath of air when he feels someone grab his leg and halt his progressive slide through the water.

He can’t focus any longer, all he can understand is that his foot is coming free and he is no longer sinking; but he can’t swim either. He has no energy to get back to the surface and it doesn’t really matter that there is another body pressing against his own because he’s blacking out and opening his mouth.

Bubbles of his final breath surge between himself and whoever is touching him. Patrick is now not-so-acutely aware of the fact that he is going to die.

But then a mouth seals over his own and new air is forced into his lungs.

He sucks it in like he’s dying —which he’s pretty sure he is— and finds himself clutching the body before him. Patrick’s head floods painfully, the sudden oxygen high throwing him off. It’s too much too soon to go from drowning to over-oxygenated and he thinks that just maybe he’s just going to implode and die anyway.

But there’s a smooth hand covering the back of his neck and holding him close, letting him steal the air he has no other way of getting; he nearly relaxes, limp in someone’s arms somewhere under the water in Lake Michigan on a Saturday afternoon.

He forces himself to open his eyes, and he would have pulled back and gasped, had the hand on his neck not held him firmly in place. He stares into dark, wide brown eyes for mere moments before he realizes that he’s a good ten feet from the surface and he can see light and hear the sounds of someone jumping into the water above him.

Patrick gets one final push of air and then the hands around him are gone and he has no choice but to kick for the surface.

It’s Andy that’s bent over him, pinching his nose shut and mouth hovering against his own. Patrick nearly smashes their faces together in his haste to sit up. He drags his hand over his lips with a vague sound of discontent and pushes back as Andy sits on his heels. They’re both soaked and Patrick feels overly aware of everyone staring at him.

It’s too much and he just wants to go home and get changed. Joe helps him to his feet and doesn’t protest when Patrick tells him as much.

 

\--

 

“You sure, man?” Joe is asking again when Patrick stands from placing his shoes upside-down over the register to dry.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he assures, reaching up to brush his damp hair away from his forehead with a sigh. He never did locate his hat. “I’m just gonna shower and go to bed.”

He can tell Joe is glancing at the clock, it’s only just after three pm, but Joe merely shrugs, guilt heavy in his shoulders. “You don’t need anything?”

Patrick opens the sliding glass door to the deck of his second-story apartment and tosses his jacket out onto one of the chairs. “Seriously, Joe,” he says, turning back around and closing the door, “I’m fine.”

Joe just nods and goes to let himself out, “Call me tomorrow so I know you’re not dead.”

“Will do,” Patrick smiles even though the muscles in his face feel tired, _everything_ about him feels tired. His lungs ache and he still hasn’t eaten anything yet, but he just wants to go to bed. He makes a quick stop in the bathroom to take a boiling hot shower and then slides under the covers, pressing his face into his pillow and drifting off.

He definitely doesn’t dream about making out with brown-eyed men underwater.

 

\--

 

Patrick works out of home, selling and trading stocks online, so he has a lot of time to do whatever he wants if he gets what he wants done early enough. He takes Sunday off and spends all of Monday at his computer and on the phone to one of his New York partners talking airline bonds before going out to get a drink with his friend William.

They end up back at William’s apartment watching a movie on low volume and talking over it. Patrick is only slightly buzzed, but not anywhere near enough to be able to ignore the hand on his thigh and the way William only pretends to be interested in the story of the man Patrick is sure saved his life a few days previous.

They end up making out for an hour and rubbing off on each other; William is asleep and Patrick is out the door by the time the credits roll.

 

\--

 

Patrick spends Tuesday and Wednesday working and Thursday sitting out on his deck with his acoustic guitar strumming absently and trying to remember anything else about the guy in the lake. He rationalizes that he was pretty fucking out of it at the time. His brain was oxygen-deprived, he probably hallucinated the whole thing and the making out with the dark-eyed stranger was probably his brain’s way of softening the blow that Andy had been giving him mouth-to-mouth.

He just can’t let it go though. He knows what he felt and he knows someone was there with him. How else did his foot get free? Andy never mentioned that, if he’d actually pulled Patrick up or if he’d just fished him out of the water.

Patrick doesn’t even know what to think anymore. He leaves his guitar on the couch and lays on the floor of the living room, staring at the ceiling until it gets dark enough that he almost gets up to turn a light on but instead rolls over onto his stomach, pillowing his head on his arms, and falls asleep.

When he wakes up the next morning with a crick in his neck and enough stubble on his jaw to realize he hasn’t shaved in the past four days, he grabs a hat from his bedroom, pats down his pockets for his keys and heads out the door.

Joe answers the door all heavy blinking, groggy and sex-haired, but he hands over the keys to his boat and even offers to go out with him. Patrick just thanks him and tells him he’d prefer to be alone. Joe tells him to wear a life jacket and goes back to bed.

 

\--

 

When he finally gets back to the marina, he feels like an idiot. Here he is borrowing his friend’s boat, the one he almost fell off and drown from the last time he was on it, just so he can get out on the water and… what? See if he can find the man who saved him? Under the water? He feels like more than just an idiot, he feels fucking stupid as shit.

He doesn’t take the boat out, but he does step down into it, leaning over the railing and staring out at the water below. It’s not too deep here, but the water is dark and hard to see through. There are few other boats even around and there certainly isn’t anyone else hanging around on the dock. He lets himself have his moment of self-deprecation, sighing wistfully and closing his eyes as his hand dangles over the rail.

He has no idea how long he’s been like that when something wet touches his fingertip. Patrick cracks his eyes open and sees nothing but a drop of water hanging from his finger. He brings his hand up to inspect it when suddenly there is a light splash and something lands on the deck beside him.

Patrick practically jumps out of his skin and spins around to see the hat he lost last Saturday at his feet, soaking wet and folded in on itself. He hears another, quieter splash, that he would normally play off as just waves knocking against the side of the boat, but in this instance, he knows better.

He turns slowly and sees black, matted-down hair and dark brown eyes peeking above the surface of the water. They stare for a mere moment before the top of the head sinks quickly from his line of vision and Patrick nearly falls out of the boat again yelling, “Wait!”

He holds his breath, unsure and unable to move, heartbeat throbbing in his head.

What feels like hours pass in a single short minute and Patrick is about to head to the nearest hospital for a CAT scan when he sees those eyes again, closer to the side of the boat.

Patrick’s knees give and he holds onto the rail with one hand and sticks his head out enough to look down at what he knows now is not a hallucination.

He isn’t sure what to say, suddenly, almost as if he had been hoping he really was crazy and had imagined all of this. And now, faced with the sudden reality that he _hasn’t_ made it all up, he’s at a complete loss.

What he’s come to believe, though, is that this man, this guy who was out in the middle of the lake last Saturday, the one who saved him and breathed air into his lungs like a trained CPR specialist, is a mermaid.

The second he thinks the word, the head comes all the way up out of the water and a tentative, but bright, smile appears on his wide mouth, teeth just barely visible. He doesn’t look water-logged or even really wet, aside from the fact that he obviously lives in water. His skin is dark and he just _glows_ against the darkness around him.

Patrick is entranced and has some vague recollection about mythical stories of mermaids leading sailors to their death with the soft sound of their voice, but he doesn’t much care when a damp, but warm, hand reaches up and settles over his own.

The mermaid continues smiling and Patrick smiles back.

 

\--

 

As far as Patrick can tell, the mermaid —merman, he corrects himself— doesn’t speak English. Or at all. The first day, when he tried asking him his name, he just continued petting the back of Patrick’s hand and smiling up at him.

However, Patrick is fairly certain the merman _understands_ English just fine.

He stayed out on Joe’s boat by the dock for over an hour until someone else showed up and the creature in the water appeared startled and abruptly swam off. Patrick waited until they were gone and, thankfully, those eyes appeared just over the edge of the water a few feet away.

The sun was high overhead and more and more people were arriving to claim the remaining boats and Patrick knew it was only a matter of time before the merman was scared off again, so he knelt back down and waited for him to swim over. Patrick told him he was leaving and asked him to meet him in the same place the next day. The merman just tilted its head and smiled softly before reaching a wet hand up to curl over the side of Patrick’s face; he slid quickly beneath the water and vanished.

Patrick hoped for the best but tried not to expect anything.

The next morning, around the same time, he sat on the dock and waited. It wasn’t long before, from under the dock, a damp hand curled around his ankle and nearly scared him right off into the water.

The merman bore a playful smirk and those eyes Patrick had found himself dreaming about the night before.

 

\--

 

After two more days of taking Joe’s boat out, Joe starts looking at him like maybe he’s inhaled too much lake water.

When he leaves the marina that evening he promptly goes out and buys himself an eighteen foot boat of his own. Of course this means his new car is going to have to wait, but Patrick feels it’s a fair trade.

 

\--

 

He makes a habit of it for the next week, doing his work in the afternoons and evenings and heading for the marina in the mornings. The merman is waiting for him every single day but never in the same place twice. He’s playful, startling Patrick or splashing him to get his attention. Patrick starts to wonder what it means that it never makes him angry when he gets his clothes wet and finds himself talking with no response for a couple hours every day.

He thinks the merman likes to listen, he hopes, anyway. Why else would he keep coming back every day if he didn’t? Patrick likes this rationalization.

On the eighth day Patrick catches someone watching him suspiciously from another dock. He guesses he does look fairly insane, sitting on his boat, still anchored and talking at the water; but he’s at a loss on what to do. He can’t invite the merman up onto the boat or something and he certainly can’t get in the water right here.

It takes him a second to decide before he whispers to the merman to follow him. Patrick watches him grasp the side of the boat and pull himself in closer to listen as Patrick whispers. He doesn’t nod his ascent but he does disappear back down into the water; Patrick hopes it’s to follow.

The merman _has_ to at least understand English, Patrick thinks as he turns the key in the ignition.

He drives slowly in the no-wake zone and maneuvers past two boats coming in before speeding up a little. He doesn’t go too fast, he figures the merman can swim at a greater speed than he’s going, but he doesn’t want to take the chance that he’s going to mistake Patrick’s boat for someone else’s.

Patrick doesn’t go far, he slows to a stop close to a mile off shore, far enough away from all of the fishing boats and the tubers and jetskis though, so he won’t be as likely to be observed talking to the aquatic man he hopes has followed him out.

He waits. Seconds crawl into minutes and Patrick’s heart rate increases as he waits. He feels vaguely like he’s about to throw up when he sees a hand reach up over the side of the boat for the lowest rung of the railing and grab on. He breathes a sigh of relief when those dark brown eyes blink up at him.

Patrick waves and the merman copies the gesture with his free hand before letting go with a soft splash and reappearing at the back of the boat. Patrick has already cut the engine, but he grabs the keys and tucks them into the front pocket of his hoodie, just in case, and heads over. He stops to take off his shoes and socks and rolls up his pant legs before stepping carefully out onto the back platform.

The water isn’t rough, but large bodies of water aren’t exactly Patrick’s best friend right now, so he sits close to the back of the boat and keeps one hand firmly planted on the step up before dipping his feet into the water. He pulls them back with a gasp. It’s still only June and the water isn’t exactly hot tub material out here. He slides them back in slowly.

The merman grins at him and grabs his feet under the water. Patrick grasps the boat tightly. “Don’t,” he says seriously.

The last thing he wants to do is get pulled into the water right now. The merman lets go with a pout and eases back a few feet. Patrick rolls his eyes and holds out his hand. There’s a moments hesitation before the merman is all smiles again, hands damp on Patrick’s thighs, tilting his head up into Patrick’s hand like a cat. Patrick ruffles his hair gently before looking around again, making sure no one is near them.

“Aren’t you cold?” Patrick asks, not expecting an answer. Goosebumps are crawling all over his skin and his toes are going numb already, even with the hot afternoon sun beaming down on him.

The merman leans forward, planting his chin on Patrick’s thigh and sighing quietly. Patrick soothes a hand over the back of his neck and a damp hand curls around his calf, fingering his rolled-up pant leg.

Patrick takes a moment to admire the strong, solid muscles of the merman’s back. His skin is dark, tanned but natural looking, like maybe it’s not from the sun but genetics. Patrick runs his fingers down over the defined line between his shoulder blades and feels the body against him shudder.

After going home with prune-y hands for the past week, Patrick has figured out fairly quickly that the merman likes touching and being touched. He sighs again and shifts so his cheek is on the slightly wet material of Patrick’s jeans, facing his stomach. Patrick’s seen enough to know that the merman looks good shirtless; Patrick shifts uncomfortably under the obvious inspection his body is receiving.

Seemingly knowing what Patrick’s thinking, not for the first time, the merman reaches out and rubs his hand over Patrick’s belly. Patrick just watches him as his dark fingers curl against Patrick’s side and he leans in to nuzzle his stomach.

Patrick swats at the back of his head and the merman looks up at him, eyes hurt and Patrick sighs and rubs his head in apology. They stay like that for a while. Patrick starts thinking about closing his eyes and maybe relaxing until a hand curls around his and he finds himself being pulled almost over the edge of the platform. He gasps and grabs onto the boat again, yanking his hand back.

When he looks up, he’s face to face with a grinning merman who wraps both arms around his shoulders and pulls himself in. Patrick almost falls over again before righting himself. When he’s steady, he wraps one arm around the merman and catches a glimpse of light purple scales on his low back. He’s mostly soaked by the time he realizes that he’s not getting the wet body off of him. And maybe that was the point, Patrick thinks. It’s not the first time the merman has tried to pull him into the water, maybe he figures if he can get Patrick wet enough he’ll throw caution to the wind and just jump in.

Patrick’s not biting, if that’s the case.

He reaches up to pull the arms from his neck and suddenly there’s a mouth pressed to his own and Patrick’s so distracted when his brain short-circuits that he doesn’t even realize he’s in the water until the shock of cold makes him gasp against the merman’s lips.

He pulls back, heartbeat wild in his throat, panicked, but he can feel the movement of water from below, generated by the merman’s fin, keeping them in place and upright. He forces himself to unclench his fingers from the shoulders they’ve dug into when he convinces himself that he’s not about to have a repeat of the almost-drowning.

The merman looks at him seriously for a moment, both arms curled around Patrick’s back before he leans in slowly this time and presses his mouth to Patrick’s.

Patrick’s eyebrows draw together in confusion before he merely closes his eyes and lets the merman kiss him.

He feels absolutely ridiculous kissing someone [something?] whose name he doesn’t even know, whose voice he’s never heard, in the lake —again— until a warm tongue presses against his lips and he parts them without thought. Patrick’s back bumps into the boat’s platform and he groans despite himself, opening his mouth. The merman sucks eagerly on his tongue until Patrick pushes back with his own and then it’s all heavy breathing against one another, Patrick’s hands tangling in dark, wet hair and a hand dangerously low on his own back.

Patrick pulls away with a gasp when he finds himself spreading his legs to wrap around the waist before him and his toes skid along slippery-smooth scales. And that— that’s just too weird, too much right now.

The merman gives him a confused look and Patrick gently pushes him back with a hand on his chest. He ignores the feel of moving muscles beneath the tawny skin as the merman frowns but easily puts a couple feet of distance between them. Patrick stays put for only a moment before turning and trying to pull himself back up onto the platform, only to find his arms are shaking too badly to be of much use.

He stills when hands grip his hips until he realizes that the merman is helping him back up. Patrick settles on his knees before turning around and watching the eyes watching him.

Guilt is written heavily along the merman’s features and Patrick feels his stomach clench. It wasn’t even that he _wanted_ to stop, it was just— overwhelming. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly and the look of guilt only increases further, lacing with embarrassment as he looks down at the water and reaches up to rub at his shoulder where Patrick had been holding on.

Patrick feels his face flush when he realizes he must have been digging in with his fingernails. “I’m sorry,” he says again, moving to stand up. “I just…” he trails off when the merman dips lower in the water, preparing to flee. Patrick kneels back down with a sigh and waits.

He disappears under the water for a moment before emerging slowly next to the platform and looking up at Patrick through his hair; Patrick reaches down and pushes it away from his eyes.

The merman spits a jet of water at him.

Patrick sputters and wipes at his face. A too-wide smile is beaming back at him before tan hands grab his face and press a chaste kiss to his lips, fingers brushing quickly up his sideburns. The merman swims back before Patrick can retaliate, either with his mouth or a splash and points to himself, then at Patrick and down at the water.

This is the first time the merman has ever attempted to actually tell him something. Usually he just wants to be touched and listen to Patrick talk; it makes Patrick’s breath catch in his throat to realize he’s asking Patrick to meet him back here tomorrow, he assumes.

Patrick just nods and says goodbye before the merman waves and turns with a flourish and dives down out of sight.

 

\--

 

Patrick spends the next few days much the same way until he’s abandoned his work for as long as humanly possible and he knows he’s not going to be able to make it out to see the merman the next morning.

He feels off, something not right about the day, the way whenever he moves a wet hand will reach out for him, how almost desperate the merman seems to be to not have him move at all. When Patrick stands up to get a bottled water from the boat he turns around to find him pulled up onto the platform, fin waving in the sunlight behind him. It’s the most Patrick has ever seen of the aquatic creature and he pauses a moment to take it in.

For some reason he had it in his head that his scales would be green, but they’re purple; light and iridescent low on his waist and then fading down to a deep, dark purple on his fin. He stares, feeling something burning low in his stomach, until the merman gives him a confused, anxious look that sets Patrick off walking again.

The merman slides back into the water, leaving Patrick’s spot wet, and latches onto his thighs the moment he’s seated. Patrick spends well into the late afternoon telling him all the stories of mermaids he knows. The merman’s interest is peaked with _The Little Mermaid_ and he listens attentively straight through to the end.

It’s the longest Patrick’s ever stayed out and he can feel his arms start to burn when the sun starts sinking. He strokes a hand through the merman’s hair and sighs.

The merman, apparently, knows this means Patrick’s going to go, and holds tighter to his thigh, looking up imploringly.

“I can’t come tomorrow,” Patrick starts. It takes a moment, but Patrick’s tone and the look on his face seem to communicate everything the merman needs to know and his brows furrow with confusion and his bottom lip begins to pout.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick continues, sweeping a hand through rough black hair and down over a tan jaw, stopping before his gills. They’re not very prominent, small and hidden by his shaggy hair, but definitely there; the merman keeps them wet, bringing handfuls of water up to moisten them every couple minutes whenever he’s above the water for too long. Patrick wants to touch them, but he figures that might be a little too intrusive. “I’ve got to get caught up on my work,” he explains, watching the lack of understanding on the face before him. “I’ll come the day after, okay?”

Brown eyes meet his own and they don’t look very understanding, but they don’t look mad either. Patrick decides to take what he can get and leans down a little. The merman pushes himself up instantly, face smoothing over and eyes closing even before their lips meet. A wet hand twines in Patrick’s hair when their mouths open and the merman makes a breathy sound against his lips.

Patrick has no idea what he’s doing or where this is going. He feels more than a little insane, but he doesn’t particularly care. He lets the kiss break naturally and presses their foreheads together. He really doesn’t want to leave, but he knows he has to get home and make some calls to his New York partner, get back into the exchange, check stocks online. His head feels too full and he just wants to stay out on the boat all night, even though he knows he can’t.

He waits until the merman is content though, touching his face and playing with the hair sticking out from under his hat. He seems to like it, rubbing it between his fingers whenever Patrick will let him; it’s much finer and thinner than the merman’s own, Patrick reasons, he’s probably never felt anything like it before.

Patrick closes his eyes and hums contentedly in his throat when careful fingertips slide down his cheeks and over his sideburns. If it wasn’t for the fact that there were no other sounds aside from the gentle lapping of waves against the side of the boat, he would have blamed it on anything else when he hears the word, “Soft,” breathed out against his lips.

It takes Patrick almost a full minute to register what he’s just heard, and then he’s pulling back and grasping the merman’s elbows, asking, “What?” over the lump in his throat, his mouth suddenly dry.

The merman looks at him, hard and confused, eyebrows twisting as he seems to think. “Soft?” he repeats, this time it’s a question.

Patrick feels like he’s going to fall right off the platform, he squeezes harder. “You speak English?”

There’s a sharp inhalation and another look of deep thought, like he’s considering everything he could say before he shakes his head _no_.

“What do you mean, no?” Patrick presses, aware that his voice is harsh and he’s still gripping the merman’s elbows; he feels a slight tug of resistance against him and loosens up. “You _can_ ,” Patrick states.

The merman looks frustrated and he digs his fingers into Patrick’s forearms. It’s silent a long time before he finally says, “Hard.”

It takes even longer before Patrick responds, “It’s hard?” A nod. “You know it but it’s just hard?” Another nod, slower in coming this time. Patrick realizes suddenly, as he watches the merman [confronted with rapid speech] translates what Patrick says, that it’s not only hard for him to speak it, but apparently hard to understand when it’s directed in expectation of a response.

“I…” he trails off, heaving a harsh sigh and looking away for a moment, “I try— remember…” Patrick nods to keep him talking, feeling his palms begin to sweat against the tensed muscles they’re gripping. The merman makes a frustrated sound and points to Patrick before saying, “Helps.” He pauses a moment before deciding that’s what he meant and nods.

“Listening to me talk helps you remember how?”

Another, more confident, nod.

The silence between them is thick and uncomfortable until Patrick lets go of the merman’s arms and cups both of them in the water, bringing them up to soothe over his gills. He feels a shudder work through the body under his hands and the merman leans into him, arms reaching out to wrap around his waist.

“Come back?” he asks, voice rough and low as if he hasn’t used it in years, muffled by Patrick’s shirt.

Patrick leans down, pulling the merman’s head away from his chest to look at him. “I can’t tomorrow.” The merman looks distressed. “The next day,” he continues, “I promise.” It takes a moment before lips press to Patrick’s again, but he accepts it willingly, reaching back to hold the merman’s head and dipping his tongue gently into the open mouth he’s presented with. “I promise,” he repeats again when they break apart.

The merman nods gently against him, kissing him softly once more before letting go and swimming off.

Patrick has the strongest urge to quit working altogether as he watches the merman’s wake vanish. He tramps it down but remains seated for a long minute, getting his heart back under control and his thoughts in order.

He talked. The merman understands him and finally, _finally_ spoke back.

He realizes, to his disappointment and a little too belatedly, that he didn’t ask his name

Patrick pushes himself up and digs the boat keys out of his pocket, staring out at the empty horizon. He’ll just have to ask next time.

 

\--

 

In the weeks that follow, Patrick ends up learning a lot about the merman. His ability to speak comes easier and easier with every day he spends propped up on his elbows on the platform of Patrick’s boat. He isn’t fluent yet, but he’s getting there, sometimes stumbling over words and forgetting the ones he’s just remembered. Patrick helps him out and listens eagerly to everything he has to say.

Patrick finds out that the merman is from somewhere near Cancun [he didn’t call it that, because his people had their own name for it, but it just sounded like it to Patrick]. It makes sense, the dark, natural glow of his skin and his pitch-black hair, for him to come from somewhere close to the equator. But how he ended up in Lake Michigan is a mystery he just hasn’t been able to pull out of the merman yet.

He has a Mexican name too. Well, something that _sounds_ Mexican anyway. Patrick can’t repeat it for the life of him. He tried a couple times but the merman had shook his head and grinned up at him. Patrick has a feeling there’s a silent “x” in it somewhere. He finally caves, after watching Patrick fumble uncomfortably for a minute and tells him to just call him Peter.

“Why Peter?” Patrick asks, leaning back and dipping his hand into the water, bringing it up to soothe over the merman’s drying gills. He feels him lean into his palm.

The merman shrugs. “I like that best,” Patrick waits when he looks off, still considering what he’s trying to say, “from what you tell me.”

It takes a moment but Patrick finally makes the connection. The merman had been so enraptured by the story of _The Little Mermaid_ that Patrick had ended up telling him other Disney stories too. _Peter Pan_ had been the hands-down favorite.

“How about Pete?” Patrick asks, bringing his feet up to cross his legs. He’s long-since gotten over leaving the lake every day with damp clothing. The merman scrunches his face, causing deep laugh-lines to appear in the corners.

“Why Pete?”

Patrick repeats the motion of dampening the merman’s gills and imagines he hears a blissful sigh.

“Because Wendy left Peter at the end.” He waits for understanding to dawn; slowly.

“You won’t leave.” It’s not a question.

Patrick shakes his head. “I don’t want to think of you in terms of _Peter Pan_.”

The merman still looks slightly confused and Patrick feels a flush creeping up along his neck, but he presses on anyway. “We’re not them. I’m Patrick.” The merman nods. “You’re Pete.”

Patrick feels a rush of cold lake water along his front when the merman pulls himself out of the water, strong forearms holding him up over Patrick —even though Patrick gets the feeling that they’d be about the same height if the merman had legs— and leans in to kiss him.

Patrick accepts eagerly, leaning up, just a little and opening his mouth when a tongue presses against his lips. Patrick becomes acutely aware of the damp hand on the side of his neck, tilting his head to the side and the harder and harder press of the mouth on his own. When Patrick reaches up to pull him closer the merman eases out of the kiss.

They stare at one another, close, breathing one another’s air before the merman kisses him lightly again and whispers, “Pete.”

Patrick smiles.

 

\--

 

It isn’t that Patrick doesn’t realize he’s ignoring more or less his entire life to get out on the boat to be with Pete every day, but he likes to pretend he isn’t. He feels guilty on the drive home when he turns on his phone to find text messages from Joe and William and most of his other friends asking him where the hell he’s been. And when he finishes up his stock trades and climbs into bed after a hot shower every night, he swears to himself that he’s going to stop spending so much time out on the water.

But every morning when Pete’s dark brown eyes blink up at him and Patrick kneels down for a kiss that grows more intense with each passing day, it’s even easier to forget everything he’s promised himself.

 

\--

 

Patrick works through the morning and afternoon so he can spend the evening with Pete. Supposedly a meteor shower is going to be visible from their area and he wants to watch from the lake.

Patrick is laying on his back with his head pillowed on his arms, staring up at the clear, night sky. There isn’t a flying space rock in sight, but he finds it a little hard to really care. Pete has his head on Patrick’s chest, staring off at the horizon instead. He didn’t come right out and say it, when Patrick had mentioned the idea to him, but Patrick caught the notion that the thought scared Pete a little. He didn’t press for why.

It’s not yet ten —the marina closes at midnight on Fridays and Saturdays— when Patrick reaches down to thread his fingers through Pete’s dried hair. It’s rough as ever, sticking up at all angles and a little sticky, the way lake water always seems to cling to whatever surface it touches. Pete sighs contentedly and wets his gills.

The silences they share have never felt uncomfortable, or the conversation forced; Patrick doesn’t feel like it is now either, so he doesn’t hesitate to ask, “Why did you come here?”

Pete wasn’t moving but Patrick feels him go stiff. He doesn’t move his hand but he doesn’t push for an answer. If Pete wants to tell him, he will.

Slowly, Pete picks his head up and Patrick lets his hand fall to rest on his stomach, knotting his own fingers together nervously. Eyes made even darker, more intense in the blackness around them, bore into his own. For the first time since Pete has spoken to him, Patrick feels an odd separation settle over them; man and merman, not Patrick and Pete.

Patrick sits up and Pete watches him. “Look, you don’t have to tell me, I just wondered.”

Pete still stares; Patrick feels likes he’s being judged.

Suddenly, the sky overhead erupts with shooting stars. They make no sound, but they light up the lake as if there are blinking Christmas tree lights underneath the water. Patrick looks up in awe but Pete starts in shock and submerges.

Patrick calls out for him several times and even stands up, looking around and narrowing his eyes, scanning the water. But he sees nothing. His heart pounds frantically in his chest and a cold sweat breaks out along his hairline. There’s no sign of Pete anywhere.

Patrick waits for over an hour for Pete to come back. When he doesn’t, Patrick starts up the boat and heads back in. He can’t shake the heavy, internal feeling that maybe he’s said something that has driven Pete away for good.

 

\--

 

Patrick goes out for breakfast with Joe the next morning and vaguely explains away his recent absence from their social circle with some combination of work and illness. He figures becoming infatuated with a merman counts as being both stupid and sick; it works.

Joe lets him go with a promise to come over that night and bring some new horror movie that just came out. Patrick’s not really interested in seeing a bunch of teenagers get picked off one by one [that was over-done in the ninety’s] but Joe seems happy at the prospect of them hanging out and telling a happy Joe “no” is like kicking a proverbial puppy. And Patrick is no puppy-kicker.

 

\--

 

Patrick doesn’t take the boat out at all that day.

He sends an email to his mom, checks his stocks and does a few trades before looking up the distance between Cancun and Lake Michigan by water. As far as he can gather Pete must have traveled in through the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, down the Saint Lawrence Seaway, through Lake Ontario, Lake Erie, Lake Huron and under the Mackinac Bridge into Lake Michigan. Patrick absolutely gawks at the screen at the overall distance.

He still has no idea why Pete would have traveled all the way from the warm waters of Mexico to the cold, slightly-polluted waters of Lake Michigan. He fights off the feeling that he might not ever come to know.

Joe keeps him fairly distracted for the night but when he leaves and Patrick gets into bed, his guilt over not going to see Pete out of spite for being abandoned the night before eats at him until the sun comes up.

 

\--

 

Patrick climbs out of bed and makes himself a pot of coffee at roughly seven in the morning. The marina doesn’t open for another hour but he gets dressed and waits until then.

Pete doesn’t show.

Patrick fights the urge to be sick and just barely wins. He sits inside the boat with the door to the back open, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes and sniffing back tears. He’s being ridiculous, he tells himself. Absolutely ridiculous.

Pete isn’t obligated to come see him every day, especially not right after they had a fight [even though Patrick’s not really sure what happened could be termed an actual fight]. Pete isn’t even a _person_ , a crude, unrelenting part of his brain tells him.

Patrick looks down at his hands, planted on either side of him, for a long moment before he quietly tells himself, “Get up.” He’s not really sure his knees can support him right now, not when it feels like he’s maybe had his heart broken, but they do. He clutches the railing, but his knees don’t give.

Patrick might collapse into the chair behind the throttle, _might_ , but he’s the only one who has to know that. Pete’s just… just a thing, an unimportant thing, he tells himself with his eyes closed and his breathing wet and heavy in his chest. He almost believes it when he reaches into his pocket for the ignition key.

“ _Patrick_!”

Patrick is glad he’s alone in the boat when he jumps, because he’s fairly certain he squeaked like a girl when he did.

Pete’s frantic voice has him spinning on his heels and gripping the boat rail, looking out to see Pete’s stunted movement right before he grabs onto the platform. Patrick stumbles out onto his knees and wraps his hands around Pete’s forearms.

He looks tired for the first time since Patrick has met him. His face is too pale, dark circles under his eyes and his breathing is pathetic sounding when he buries his face in Patrick’s throat, fingers digging into his sides.

It isn’t until Patrick’s hands touch his back that he realizes that Pete’s injured. He pulls his hands away, sticky and red with blood, and gasps. “Pete, what happened?”

Pete shakes his head but doesn’t move or try to explain. Patrick pulls back forcefully and leans over to look at Pete’s back. The rough, rope cuts start low on his back and continue down to where Patrick can’t see them, hidden by the water. They’re diamond-shaped and thin, some of his scales are missing in large chunks, revealing tender, open flesh.

Patrick is almost sick at the sight.

He leans back and clutches the side of Pete’s head with one hand, the other still firm on his arm. “What happened?” he asks again, slowly, no room for argument. “Tell me.”

Pete seems to have calmed just slightly since the moment he first shouted Patrick’s name. He meets Patrick’s eyes and his face looks suddenly heavy with guilt, like maybe he deserved whatever happened. “I got caught,” he whispers.

Patrick feels his heart stutter in his chest. “You got caught by what?”

Pete swallows dryly, his breathing rasping out and Patrick wets his gills for him. “Fisherman’s net.”

For a moment Patrick can’t breathe. “They saw you?”

Pete shakes his head slowly, looking more tired and feeling heavier in Patrick’s grasp. When he looks down he sees that Pete’s not attempting to support himself on the platform at all. Patrick tightens his grasp and pulls him up further. “I wasn’t paying attention. Swam into it.”

It doesn’t take Patrick more than a split second to realize just how close Pete came to dying. He pulls Pete back in and finally feels his weakened arms around his waist. He doesn’t want the gory details, he can see them on Pete’s back and fin. He just wants to stay like this. He closes his eyes and pushes his face into Pete’s wet hair.

“We heal fast,” Pete finally whispers against his throat. “I’ll be fine soon.” Patrick still doesn’t say anything. Pete sounds like he’s about to fall asleep. He knows it’s stupid, but he’s never imagined Pete needing to sleep. Does he sleep like a fish? Floating around with his eyes open? The thought makes Patrick shudder.

Pete feels loose in his arms and when he whispers his name he gets no response. Patrick only moves to wet Pete’s gills and retighten his grip.

Pete sleeps with his eyes closed.

 

\--

 

It doesn’t take Patrick long after his panic over Pete’s almost-death to realize that the attraction he’s been denying to himself over the past month has grown to something he’s still too afraid to name. But it’s there and he knows it.

Pete knows and must share it too because his affinity for physical affection has grown beyond the lazy makeout sessions the two have engaged in. Pete touches him, hands desperate for something Patrick’s not even sure Pete knows what it is. Patrick wants to give it to him, though, he knows this for a fact.

It isn’t until Pete coaxes Patrick into the water and lets Patrick rub up against him that Patrick gets hard for the very first time because of Pete. He gasps and groans and tightens his legs grip on Pete’s waist, grinding up into his stomach.

Pete is at a complete loss, he can feel Patrick and smell how excited he is, but other than keeping up with the hard, open-mouthed kisses, he doesn’t know what to do to bring Patrick beyond that. His hands fumble at Patrick’s waist, pushing his shirt up and pawing at his skin underwater. Patrick arches into him and Pete groans in shock. He’s never seen Patrick like this before and the need to keep him like it becomes a frantic thrum in his veins.

“Patrick,” he gasps into the open mouth before him, feeling Patrick hard against his stomach and not knowing what to do.

It’s not as though he’s never mated before, but it’s obvious things are different now. He reaches between them on an instinct he never knew he had and grabs at the junction of Patrick’s thighs. Patrick keens in his ear and the hair on the back of Pete’s neck stands on end. Patrick likes it. He does it again. The sound doesn’t repeat but Patrick digs at his shoulders and keeps his eyes closed, panting against his neck.

Pete knows he should be more worried about drifting away from the boat, but he has no doubt in his ability to keep Patrick above the water and doesn’t think Patrick is too worried either.

He switches from grasping to rubbing and Patrick groans. Pete has no idea what he’s doing, but he knows his own cheeks are flushed; Patrick isn’t the only one ready for something else to happen. He kisses Patrick hard and whispers into his ear, “I don’t know how your species does this.” Patrick doesn’t seem to hear him and rubs up against his stomach again. “Let me fertilize you.”

Patrick _does_ , however, hear that.

The movement against Pete’s front stops and Patrick’s panting is the only sound between them. “What?”

Pete flushes even more, drawing back to look Patrick in the eye. He looks embarrassed and feels ready to tense and push Pete away. That’s the absolute last thing Pete wants. He shakes his head.

“Do you lay eggs?”

Patrick _does_ push him away. Pete doesn’t let him go though. The hands on his chest keep them separated and Pete suddenly wishes he had just kept on with his hand and let Patrick be the one to decide when to move things further.

As close as Patrick is to freaking out, he doesn’t. Understanding seems to dawn like the fucking morning. Pete’s only a sort-of-mammal from the waist up. He must reproduce like a fish. Patrick bites his lip; this puts a serious damper on things if he’s the only one who’s going to get anything out of this. He’s never felt okay just taking from other people and the last thing he wants to do is take from Pete.

He swallows hard and drops his legs. Pete’s grip tightens. “No, we don’t.”

“Don’t leave,” Pete says quietly, a little afraid, like Patrick would really just ease away from him and climb back onto the boat.

“I won’t,” Patrick whispers, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to Pete’s lips. His erection brushes against Pete’s stomach when Pete sinks in closer. A harsh moan escapes him before he can stop it and Pete’s hand is back between his legs. “You don’t have to,” Patrick grits out, eyes clenched.

Pete still doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, but he doesn’t stop. “I want to,” he whispers, pecking a kiss at Patrick’s mouth before rubbing his hand in a rhythm that seems to have Patrick whimpering along with it until the water under his fingers warms just briefly and Patrick’s back goes taut. He moans quietly and sinks in Pete’s arms.

Pete waits for a reaction but doesn’t get the one he was looking for when Patrick opens his eyes and looks down between their chests. He’s never been afraid to look Pete in the eye before and Pete doesn’t like that it starts now, when he’s just given Patrick something.

“I’m sorry.”

Pete’s eyebrows knit together and he keeps his voice soft when he wants to shove Patrick back against the boat. “Why?”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Patrick tells him, looking up with flushed cheeks and unsure eyes. “I don’t know how to—” he cuts himself off and resumes looking back at the water between them. “I don’t know how to do the same for you.” Pete hesitates before he leans in and kisses Patrick, slowly until Patrick kisses back. The silence remains awkward until Patrick says, “If I could lay eggs, they’d be all yours.”

Pete snorts a laugh into his hair and Patrick finally relaxes in his arms again.

 

\--

 

A few days later when Patrick makes another night visit to Pete, Pete finally tells him, when prompted, why he left during the meteor shower.

“It scared me,” he says calmly, shrugging against Patrick’s chest. “We don’t anger the moon. And I can’t. Not when I’m so close.”

Patrick doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t ask. Pete’s allowed his secrets.

 

\--

 

Patrick thinks he gets it a week later when Pete’s said his goodbye for the evening and is swimming off. He disappears under the water with a gasp and air bubbles float to the surface.

It takes Patrick’s mind a whole ten seconds for it to click.

Pete has gills. He doesn’t release air bubbles.

Patrick dives off the platform and resurfaces with Pete frantic, coughing up water and clinging to him with his arms. And his legs.

 

\--

 

The thing about the whole ordeal that shocks Patrick, even more than Pete’s new legs, is the fact that Pete, initial panic aside, isn’t freaking out.

He sits on the floor of the boat, shaking and cold until Patrick wraps him in a towel and rubs at his shoulders, staring down at his feet and bending his toes. Patrick watches him worriedly, but he doesn’t say a single word.

 

\--

 

Pete can’t walk.

Patrick’s not taken by surprise with this revelation. It’s a struggle to get Pete out of the boat and down the dock. He trips several times and complains that the wood is burning his feet. Patrick surrenders his flip-flops, which he talks Pete through slipping on. Pete still trips, but his feet are no longer on fire.

The parking lot isn’t filled with people but he knows he’s getting a couple odd looks from both employees and other boat owners. He’s spent nearly every day at the marina, for the past month, alone and now suddenly he’s got someone else with him. A practically naked someone. He can’t exactly blame them, but he can ignore them.

He helps Pete into his car and buckles him in. The drive home is only roughly twenty minutes and it has never taken longer than it does today.

Patrick more or less carries him up the stairs to his apartment while Pete focuses on holding up the towel knotted around his waist.

He feels Pete practically humming beside him, questions brewing and his curiosity building. Patrick’s car had been an adventure, playing with the locks, the radio, seatbelt and the window until Patrick had put the child lock on. There are fingerprints and a nose print he is going to have to remind himself to clean off the glass on the passenger side.

Pete’s free hand is twisted in Patrick’s shirt, the heel of his palm digging into Patrick’s shoulder. He leans in close, holding himself up and watching as Patrick fumbles to get the key into the door before one of his neighbors wanders into the hallway and asks him what he’s doing with a damp, nude man clinging to his side.

Patrick manages to get them in without incident, locking the door and easing Pete back to sit on the couch while he closes the blinds. It’s just after four pm and the last thing he wants is anyone out in the parking lot chancing a gaze in.

Finally, Patrick feels like he can breathe. He stops for just a moment to close his eyes and try to organize his thoughts. He hasn’t taken a single second to even _think_ since he’d pulled Pete from the water; the irony not lost on him that Pete had been the one to save _him_ when they’d first met. He breathes slowly. The man who, up until a half hour ago, was a mythical creature with a large sparkly, purple fin that Patrick had put his life on hold to see every day, is now sitting on his couch wearing nothing but a wet beach towel.

Patrick turns slowly to find Pete standing on wobbly legs, holding himself up on the armrest of the couch, towel laying forgotten on the cushions.

Pete looks over at him, eyebrows furrowed in concentration at not locking his knees and then smiles right before he falls backwards and lands with a thump.

Patrick doesn’t even know where to start to go from here. So he does the easiest thing: he crosses the living room and pulls Pete to his feet and holds him steady.

Arms wind around his neck and a cold nose presses to his throat. Pete sighs somewhat dreamily and fingers the fine hairs on the back of Patrick’s neck. His skin is chilled, Patrick thinks, fingers skimming over goosebumps on Pete’s back. Pete’s not used to being cold, Patrick can tell; he’s from off-shore Mexico and he’s been able to live in Lake Michigan without it bothering him. But now, confronted with Patrick’s air conditioned apartment with no clothes and more skin then ever before, he’s starting to shake.

“Come on,” Patrick says quietly, into Pete’s shoulder. He was right, he thinks to himself, Pete isn’t much taller than him with legs.

“Where?” Pete murmurs into his neck, lips grazing Patrick’s skin, fingers reaching up to push Patrick’s hat from his head. Pete loves touching his hair and isn’t about to pass up the opportunity to do it now, on eye level with Patrick.

Patrick doesn’t respond, he slowly disentangles himself from Pete’s grasp, repositioning himself with Pete’s arm around his shoulders, and leads him slowly down the hall into his bedroom. He starts up the shower and leaves Pete propped up against the counter, telling him to just stay put for a minute.

When Patrick leaves to get Pete something to wear, Pete takes the opportunity to stare at himself in the mirror. He’s seen what he looks like before, but never like this. He leans in across the sink and tilts his head. He moves from side to side as much as possible, examining his head, his hair, the deep brown color of his eyes. The complete lack of gills makes him shudder uncomfortably. He moves on and smiles at himself, looking at his teeth. Somehow, he thinks, his mouth just might be a little too big. He frowns before looking down at his legs again.

His feet are bigger than Patrick’s. One of his favorite things to do when he still had his fin, besides letting himself rest his head on Patrick’s stomach and listen to him talk, was to touch his feet. Before Patrick he’d never been so close to a human.

All his life he’d known how dangerous it was to be near them, to talk to them or even reveal himself to one. He’d never even wanted to before. But Patrick… Pete smiles to himself and runs and hand down one of his thighs. The muscles are strong and solid and he likes the way they feel under his fingers; he suddenly has the overwhelming urge to touch Patrick’s and compare the feeling.

There’s a twitch between Pete’s legs and Pete almost doubles over from the sensation. He’s felt something like it before when he’d mated with his own kind, but it isn’t the same. It feels more out of control, like how he’d made Patrick react to him the other day.

The memory does something else to him and he grasps himself hard in his fist. It feels better, so much better. His eyes slip closed the moment before Patrick walks back into the bathroom holding two pairs of pajama pants, a t-shirt for each of them and a hoodie for Pete. He stops dead in his tracks and Pete looks up at him again.

Patrick stares at Pete standing in his bathroom holding his half-hard cock. He almost drops the pile of clothes in his hands and reaches for it himself, but he remembers just as quickly that Pete has absolutely no idea what he’s doing and that would definitely be taking advantage of him. Patrick would _never_.

He clears his throat and sets the neatly folded stack of clothes down on the floor before pulling his own shirt up over his head. Pete watches raptly, still holding himself. “Patrick,” he whispers, voice sounding hoarse and causing Patrick’s skin to tingle.

Patrick doesn’t respond, he shoves his jeans down and peels his socks off before reaching out to steady Pete. Thankfully, Pete lets go of his dick and lets Patrick turn him towards the shower.

Patrick washes his hair for him. Pete practically purrs at the attention, ducking down just that little extra bit to give Patrick full access to his head. Patrick fights off anything this experience might otherwise do for him but Pete doesn’t seem as able. Patrick reminds himself that Pete doesn’t know how.

He turns Pete and washes his back and tries to ignore the way Pete’s hand drifts down between his legs again, but there are some things in life, Patrick thinks, that are absolutely impossible.

“Don’t, Pete,” he says, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the water. Pete makes a _hmm?_ sound at him but doesn’t move until Patrick turns him back around to face him. “Not in here, Pete.”

Slowly, Pete’s eyes open and focus on him. His pupils are blown and his cheeks are flushed; a quick look down tells him that Pete’s completely hard. Pete’s holding onto him with his other hand, keeping upright. He lets go of himself and wraps both arms back around Patrick’s shoulders, pressing in against his front.

“I had no idea,” Pete whispers heavily in his ear.

Patrick is only fucking human. He slides both hands up Pete’s back and swallows the lump in his throat along with his arousal. He keeps himself from getting hard through pure force of will. “No idea about what?” he manages to ask.

Pete lifts his hips and grinds in against Patrick’s stomach. They both groan.

“What I was doing for you,” Pete tells him, arching against him rhythmically.

Patrick flushes even harder and says, “Yeah,” for lack of higher brain function. He can’t do this, he _can’t_ , not now, not yet. He’s just about to tell Pete they need to get out of the shower when Pete growls a plea in his ear.

“Will you do it for me?”

Patrick tries to count to ten but only makes it to four before he reaches between them and wraps his hand around Pete’s erection. Pete moans loud and shaky in his ear. Patrick turns them quickly, pressing Pete into the wall to keep him from falling and works his hand over the hard flesh it’s caring for.

Pete cries out, arching up, his body rolling against Patrick’s, riding up onto the thigh Patrick has him braced on. He doesn’t speak, though Patrick thinks that might be easier to deal with than the breathy moans and frantic sounds of encouragement leaking from Pete’s lips.

Patrick tightens his grip and allows himself to drop his gaze and watch as his fingers slide over Pete’s cock. Pete lifts his hips on every up-stroke and whines, digging his nails into Patrick’s shoulders on the down-stroke. Patrick wants to get to his knees, lick the head, suck it into his mouth and bring Pete off with his tongue, but he knows he can’t; Pete can barely stand up with support, if Patrick stops holding him up, they’ll both be on the floor in the shower. Maybe with head injuries.

Later, he tells himself, and then crushes that thought altogether. He’s only doing this now because Pete doesn’t know yet not to. He can’t do this again, he won’t.

It’s a signed and sealed agreement with his conscience that goes up in smoke when Pete moans his name and comes so hard it splatters on Patrick’s chest.

 

\--

 

Patrick helps Pete dress and watches him snuggle down into Patrick’s hoodie, pulling the hood up and rubbing the cuffs against his nose. It smells like Patrick; he loves it.

He takes Pete into the kitchen and has him sit on the counter while Patrick makes soup. He figures now is as good a time as any to begin questioning Pete about what the _fuck_ is going on, and his cell buzzes from his pajama bottoms pocket.

He watches Pete watch him, eyes wide. He’s seen Patrick’s phone before but never seen him talk on it. He knows what it does, but he’s never used it. He reaches out with both hands whispering urgently, “Let me see, let me. Patrick, Patrick who is it? Let me.”

Patrick pushes his hands away, trying to assure Joe that no, he has indeed not met with a watery grave and is still interested in being Joe’s friend. “Seriously, I’ve just got some things going on right now—” 

“Patrick, can I?”

Patrick turns but keeps a hand on Pete’s shoulder, fending off his hands and keeping him on the counter at the same time. Joe goes quiet in his ear for a moment. “You know if you don’t wanna hang out anymore—”

“What? Joe, no—”

Pete leans in against his shoulder, “Can I just hold it?” For once his hands are dry and he wants to be allowed to do the things he never has before. Why else did Patrick bring him here if he wasn’t going to let him? Pete begins pouting.

“Well you’ve got company so just call me later.”

The line goes silent and Patrick sighs. Joe isn’t one to complain, he’s Patrick’s most easy-going friend, but he knows Joe’s put off. He’s going to have to call him later when Pete isn’t trying to steal his cell.

Patrick snaps it shut and turns fully back to Pete, only to find him looking slightly angry. Just as Patrick is about to explain he remembers the soup on the stove and turns back to stir it. Pete grins when Patrick holds out his phone for him to take a moment later.

 

\--

 

“So this has never happened before?”

Pete shakes his head where it’s resting on Patrick’s shoulder. They’re in Patrick’s bed; he’s shown Pete how to do a few necessary things, but still requires Patrick’s help for walking more than a short distance. Pete is curled up on his side with his arm around Patrick’s stomach, warm and calm. “It only happens once.”

Patrick thinks about that for a moment. “You knew it was going to happen.” It’s not a question or an accusation when he says it.

Pete sighs softly, but not exasperatedly. “I didn’t know _when_.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Patrick stops running his fingers through Pete’s hair and begins rubbing his shoulder instead.

“I wasn’t supposed to. If you tell it doesn’t happen.”

Patrick is quiet a while, thinking. “Like wishing on a star,” he muses.

At that, Pete lifts his head. It isn’t dark in the room, even though the sun has long since set, the lamp on the nightstand provides more than enough light for them to see each other clearly. “What?”

Patrick explains and adds, “If you tell your wish, it doesn’t come true.”

Pete’s face scrunches and he props his head up with his chin in his hand. “That’s strange.” Patrick opens his mouth to brush it off as unimportant when he continues. “That’s one of our customs.”

It’s the first time, since he’s been out of the water, that Pete has ever mentioned his people to Patrick. “You do that?”

“Well, sort of,” Pete says, waving his free hand before turning onto his back and pressing himself tightly against Patrick’s side. He continues on in a dreamy voice and Patrick begins to wonder if maybe he’s about to fall asleep. “We’re not made from your species and fish.” Patrick trails his fingers over Pete’s upper arm. “We’re more than that. From the moon.”

“From the moon?” Patrick repeats, unable to keep the disbelief from his tone.

“No, no, not like that,” Pete says, sounding amused. “ _She_ came from the moon, the one who created us.” Patrick has the surreal feeling he’s hearing the story of creation as told by the merfolk; he listens quietly. “Every one of us has the chance to become human, because we live our lives watching them; it wasn’t fair to us to never experience a life outside the water. But we have to earn it, it isn’t a right.”

“How did you earn it?” Patrick asks, his voice slightly more breathless than he had intended.

Pete smiles as he turns onto his side, lifting one of his legs and stretching it out. They both watch as he rotates his ankle and then dips his foot down to slide under one of Patrick’s calves. He presses a slow, easy kiss to Patrick’s lips before he hums out happily, “I saved your life.”

Pete peppers kisses along Patrick’s jaw before pressing his face against Patrick’s neck again. “How long will you stay like this?” It’s not a question Patrick wants to ask, but it’s something he _needs_ to know.

Pete is silent before he shrugs, “I don’t know. I haven’t seen my people in a long time; I have no one to ask.” His voice is quiet and filled to overflowing with sadness.

Patrick’s not sure if he should press, but he does, gently. “Why not?” It’s dangerously close to the question of why Pete was in Lake Michigan to start with, and he knows Pete didn’t want to answer it the last time he asked.

Carefully, Pete tells him, “Hunters came for us. I escaped.” He swallows hard and Patrick tightens his grip. “I was in hiding when I found you.”

Patrick feels how tense Pete is and rolls over onto his side, turning Pete with him until they’re facing on the pillow. Pete’s eyes are wide and distressed; it’s enough questions for one day. Patrick palms his cheek and leans in, brushing their lips together. “I’m glad it was you,” Patrick whispers.

Pete’s eyes slip shut and his fingers knot with Patrick’s. “Me too.”

Their legs are still woven together when they fall asleep.

 

\--

 

Pete sleeps soundly through his first night on land.

Patrick finds this surprising; he’d expected Pete to toss and turn all night, maybe even awake with nightmares or just be completely unable to sleep while, literally, out of his element. But Patrick wakes up first, glancing over the top of Pete’s sleep-tousled hair at the clock before settling back down beside him, listening to his deep, even breathing. His hand is still curled in Patrick’s t-shirt.

 

\--

 

“I don’t think I like this,” Pete calls through the dressing room door.

Pete has been completely content to wear Patrick’s clothes since his legs formed five days ago, but the longer Pete is around him, the more permanent Patrick feels him becoming in his life. He needs his own clothes.

Patrick rubs his temple; Pete’s said that about everything he’s tried on so far. Nothing is soft and worn-in like Patrick’s clothes and, most importantly, Pete says, they don’t smell like Patrick.

“Open up and let me see.”

Pete’s bare feet are visible under the door for just a moment before he pulls it open and looks around, hiding behind the slotted, white wood, just his head peeking out. The dressing room is completely empty except for them, but Pete is still more than a little untrusting of people who aren’t Patrick.

Patrick steps forward and Pete pulls him inside, letting the door close on its own.

Pete is shirtless, standing around in tight, low-slung jeans that don’t make it even halfway up his hips. Patrick looks down and swallows every inappropriate thought that bubbles up at the sight of Pete’s dark skin and his sharp hips.

He looks up and Pete is watching him expectantly; he folds his arms across his chest in a defensive manner. “Well?”

Patrick wets his lips before coughing to clear his throat. “They look great, Pete.”

Pete sighs and turns, picking a shirt from the pile on the small bench by the floor-length mirror and tugging it down over his head. “I don’t like them.”

“Then we won’t get them,” Patrick says easily. Pete looks at him through his bangs before smoothing down the bunched up black material of the shirt and scrutinizing himself in the mirror.

His eyes meet Patrick’s in the reflection and he waits for an opinion Patrick knows he’s just going to rebut.

Patrick steps forward and presses himself against Pete’s back, sliding his hands down over Pete’s hips to settle his fingers just under the waistband of Pete’s jeans.

It wasn’t what Pete was expecting, but he leans back instantly, tipping his head onto Patrick’s shoulder and sighing quietly. “I just don’t look right.”

Patrick shakes his head against Pete’s neck before kissing the skin under his ear. “You look better in everything you try on then people who’ve had legs their entire lives.”

Pete snorts a soft laugh into the small room before turning and pressing his lips to Patrick’s. Patrick tenses for a moment before reaching one of his hands up to hold Pete’s jaw as their mouths open and their tongues slide together. Pete groans lightly and turns with a flurry in his arms, pressing them against one another and gripping Patrick’s head with both hands.

They’ve done nothing but kiss since the first day, since the shower, and Pete has clearly wanted more. Patrick does too, but he just thinks that maybe Pete should actually know what all moving ahead with the physicalities of their relationship entails. And Patrick simply hasn’t been able to bring himself to break down the _how to_ s of anything for Pete yet. 

It’s one of the more difficult things Patrick has ever done to break away from Pete, especially when Pete whimpers against his lips and tries to pull him back in.

“Patrick—” he starts, breathless and already hard against Patrick’s hip in the jeans Patrick knows he’s now going to have to buy, regardless of Pete’s dislike of them.

Patrick kisses him gently once more before stepping back and handing Pete another shirt. “Just find something you like,” he says quietly.

Pete hesitates a moment before taking the teal polo from Patrick but smiles when Patrick does.

 

\--

 

Two nights later, when Pete has been human for exactly one week, Patrick relaxes after the fear that maybe a week was the time limit and Pete was going to revert to his aquatic state.

They’re sitting on the couch, Pete curled up in a pair of Patrick’s pajama bottoms and the shirt he’d worn out that day. [Pete had eyed nearly everyone with suspicion as he and Patrick had walked to a restaurant a few blocks away for lunch. Patrick knows he’s going to have to try to break Pete of his disdain for other people but for now, he’s more than content to let Pete grip his hand possessively and glare at anyone who looks at the two of them oddly.] Patrick is still fully dressed, his arm around Pete’s shoulders, drawing his fingertips over the exposed skin of Pete’s upper arm.

They’re watching _Peter Pan_ at Pete’s request.

Patrick has the feeling that he’s the best… whatever he is to Pete, ever.

Pete is staring at the screen, still holding the DVD box in one hand, the other curled around Patrick’s thigh, when there’s a knock at the door. He jumps slightly. Patrick reaches for the remote on the coffee table and pauses the movie before shifting out from under Pete with a quiet, “be right back”.

Joe is standing in the hallway, one hand in the front pocket of his hoodie and the other clutching his car keys. He raises an eyebrow at Patrick instead of saying hello.

Patrick feels slightly sick. He’s told Pete about Joe before but he hasn’t said much of anything about Pete to Joe because he simply doesn’t know what to say besides, “I think I’m falling in love with a merman turned human.” And somehow, that just doesn’t sound very sane.

“Hey,” Patrick starts.

“Hey, yourself, asshole.” Joe waits a moment before gesturing forward. “Am I not allowed in now or something?”

Patrick feels slightly sick _and_ like a dick. He quickly steps back and allows Joe the space to walk in. His eyes immediately land on Pete and don’t move.

Patrick can almost see the thoughts processing in Joe’s head as the two stare at one another. Joe turns before either of them can say anything and fixes Patrick with a stern best friend look. “You didn’t say.”

Patrick now adds panic to the wonderful array of feelings he’s experiencing all at once. He turns to Pete and holds up a finger. “Just one second, Pete,” he says, waiting for Pete to nod hesitantly before he reaches for Joe’s sleeve and pulls him through the hallway and into the bedroom.

Pete’s not exactly neat; most of his clothes are hanging up in the open closet beside Patrick’s, but some of them are bunched up on the floor. The bed is disheveled, the sheets twisted, both sets of pillows clearly slept on. It’s more than obvious that Pete has moved in.

Joe folds his arms and slides his teeth together in thought, carefully choosing his words so he doesn’t sound like a hurt girl when he speaks. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a new boyfriend?”

Patrick takes a deep breath that does nothing to calm him, but keeps him from passing out, so he counts it as a win, and reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “It just kinda happened.” It’s lame and he knows it is, but it _did_ just happen. He never planned on _anything_ that’s happened since Pete saved his life. But he loves every single moment that has passed between them and he doesn’t plan on denying that, if Joe asks.

“How does a guy I’ve never met before, or heard of, just _happen_ to move in with you after you go M.I.A. for four weeks?” Joe sounds concerned and Patrick adds guilt to his list of feelings.

But Patrick still has no idea how to explain any of it to Joe. “It’s really not like that,” he tries. “I swear, Joe, I was going to tell you once he got settled. There’s so much more to it than that.”

Joe looks down to the floor at where a pair of jeans, too small to be Patrick’s, are curled around one of Patrick’s hats. He stares for a moment before biting the inside of his bottom lip and looking back at Patrick’s earnest expression. The silence between them is thick and awkward in a way that it hasn’t been since they were in high school, just getting to know each other. Patrick regrets not telling Joe, but at the same time he doesn’t, because if he can’t explain it now, he certainly couldn’t have explained anything then either.

“So, Pete, huh?” Joe asks. “He looks older than you so I’m reserving the right to kick his ass if things aren’t as domestically blissful as they so appear.”

Relief washes over Patrick with epic force and Joe smiles at him, rolling his eyes, shoving Patrick towards the door and back out into the hallway.

 

\--

 

Joe ends up staying until well past three am. They never finish _Peter Pan_ but Pete relaxes in slow, steady increments against Patrick’s side as he talks to Joe. By the end of the night he’s laughing through a yawn at something Joe has said and nuzzling his nose into Patrick’s neck with a smile.

Joe checks the time on his cell before pushing himself to his feet and stretching his back. “I gotta get home,” he says, patting down his pockets for his keys. “It’s a wonder the woman hasn’t called and asked where I am.” Patrick stands with a grin and envelopes Joe in a hug. He doesn’t voice his gratitude but Joe knows. He pats Patrick’s back and then hugs Pete in general guy fashion before letting go and heading for the door.

“Oh, so, my place, Saturday?” Joe asks, eyebrows raised. “Show off the shiny new boyfriend?”

Patrick feels the back of his neck get hot but doesn’t tense, squeezing Pete’s fingers instead. “Yeah, probably,” Patrick says. Pete yawns again and Joe waves.

“I’ll call you Friday.”

Patrick waves as Joe trots off down the stairs before closing and locking the door behind him. Pete leans in against his back and murmurs into his neck about being tired. Patrick turns with a smile and kisses Pete until it breaks naturally, pressing their foreheads together. Pete’s eyes are drawn and he’s practically asleep on his feet.

Patrick takes a moment to turn off the lights before leading Pete into the bedroom and getting himself ready for bed. Pete pulls off his shirt and drops it to the floor before climbing into bed and curling up against Patrick’s chest.

Pete sighs with content before lifting his head for a kiss. Patrick kisses back softly, one arm under Pete’s neck and his other hand on Pete’s jaw. It’s dark in the room but Patrick can see the sharp intent under the lazy, half-asleep look dominating Pete’s features.

Pete rests his cheek against Patrick’s chest, folding his legs up to twine with Patrick’s to make himself smaller, fitting snugly against Patrick’s body. It’s quiet then, for several minutes before Pete speaks.

“Is a boyfriend like a mate?” His words are thick and quiet but Patrick hears them easily. His heart rate kicks up a notch and he rubs gently at Pete’s neck before responding.

“Yeah, sort of. You’re a boyfriend before you’re a mate,” Patrick explains softly.

“I’m your boyfriend?”

It doesn’t sound much like a question but Patrick answers it with a quiet, “Yes.”

“And you’re mine.” Patrick knows that one isn’t a question.

He responds in like again anyway. “Yes.”

Pete hums in the back of his throat, a low, happy sound. “And then we’ll be mates.”

Patrick’s breath catches hard in his chest and he has to force himself to relax and let it go before he can nod against the pillow, reaching down to pull Pete in tighter against him. “Then we’ll be mates,” he agrees, half in wonder to himself and half to assure Pete.

Pete sighs with content and falls quickly asleep.

 

\--

 

The issue of pressing for more comes a lot sooner than Patrick had hoped for—yet later than he’d really expected—the next day.

Patrick has been trying to show Pete the basics of turning the TV on and off when Pete reaches for the remote to try it himself and Patrick doesn’t let go. Before Patrick knows it he’s on his back with his neck bent at an awkward angle and Pete on top of him. He’s all heavy breathing and lips open against Patrick’s mouth, hands fumbling to get up under Patrick’s shirt; Patrick is stunned into inaction.

When Pete grinds down against him, Patrick feels him hard against his hip and the eternal erection he’s been fighting off since the shower the first day wins the war with his self control and his dick fills so quickly he gets dizzy.

He reaches up with instinctive hands and clutches Pete’s hips, holding him in place with their cocks pressed firmly together. Pete groans so loudly against Patrick’s chin that it sounds almost hysterical.

Pete untangles his hands from Patrick’s shirt and grabs at his hair, thrusting down against Patrick again. Without even realizing it Patrick falls into the rhythm of Pete’s hips, pushing up and arching his back, rubbing and thrusting until they’re both panting loud and harsh in the air around them. 

Patrick’s breath catches when a hand worms its way down between them and clutches at him through his jeans. It’s a thrilling moment in a way it hasn’t been in a long time when someone else has touched him, in that it’s Pete; Pete he’s pretty sure he’s more than just lusting after. And at the same time it scares him, because this is exactly what Patrick promised himself he wouldn’t do with Pete; he’s taking advantage of the fact that Pete wants him without really knowing what else he would be able to get, who else is out there, or really what he’s even doing.

Patrick clenches his eyes and grabs Pete’s wrist. Halting the motion might be the hardest thing Patrick’s ever done, especially because Pete whines and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, trying to keep up the motions of both his hips and his hand. Patrick stops him with a, “ _Pete_ , wait.”

Pete’s eyes meet his, low-lidded and dark, his cheeks are flushed and there’s a fine line of sweat forming along his brows. He looks like the living embodiment of pure desire to Patrick.

“What?” he rasps, voice harsh and gravelly in his throat.

Patrick closes his eyes and pulls Pete’s hand up to rest on his chest. He swallows hard before saying, “We need to stop.”

Pete’s eyes clear a little but he shakes his head, leaning down for another kiss, which Patrick doesn’t have in him to fight off.

The very last thing Pete wants to do is sit up and let go of Patrick. Since before he even turned human he’s wanted almost nothing more than to be right where he is now; even when he knew less then he does right now. He wants Patrick, he wants everything _about_ Patrick; his body, the way he makes Pete feel so safe when he knows he should be scared out of his mind half the time, the emotional closeness they’re forming, all of it. But he knows he can’t have it if Patrick isn’t willing to give it to him.

He draws back when he realizes that Patrick _isn’t_ willing to give it to him.

Pete sits heavily on the opposite end of the couch and doesn’t watch Patrick sit up beside him. He definitely doesn’t see the hand Patrick reaches down to briefly grasp himself with either. Pete’s fingers shake and he tucks his hands under his thighs to keep Patrick from seeing.

But before Patrick can put to rest any of Pete’s new-found fears of Patrick’s lack of desire towards him, Pete stands on legs that haven’t been so wobbly since he first discovered he had them and mumbles something about needing a shower.

Patrick doesn’t stop him; he waits until the bathroom door clicks shut before he leans back into the couch and hurriedly unbuttons his pants, slipping his hand down the front and bringing himself off within a minute with nothing but Pete on his mind.

It’s the first time Pete’s showered without Patrick but he manages not to scald himself on the water. He tries not to think too much when he wraps his hand around his cock and pulls. If Patrick isn’t looking for more from him, then he is going to try to not look for more from Patrick. He wants it though, he _wants_ it. He wants Patrick in here with him, touching him like before. Pete’s breathing becomes labored quickly in the steam-filled room and he whines with every breath, every movement of his hand.

_It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair._

Patrick should never have brought him here, should never have spent so much time with him, made Pete want to get out of the water for the first time in his life, if he didn’t want Pete to want him as a mate. Why did Patrick even _say_ they were going to be mates if he didn’t want it?

His eyes burn and Pete comes hard, legs threatening to give out, and he presses his forehead against the tile wall and breathes. His eyes clench with the realization that Patrick _doesn’t_ want him as a mate. Why did Patrick even bring him here? Pete wants to climb out of the shower and shake Patrick until he explains, but he never wants to hurt Patrick. Not for any reason.

He’s left with a mixture of feeling upset, rejected and satisfied that leaves him helpless to do anything but finish washing off and head back into the bedroom with his towel wrapped around his waist.

Patrick is waiting for him on the bed and Pete is drawn into his arms without even thinking about it. It doesn’t feel tense or angry or any of the other things they both know should be filling the air between them and making them both uncomfortable. But Pete finds himself sighing into Patrick’s shoulder and closing his eyes when Patrick’s hands soothe over his back.

It’ll never be more than this, he tells himself. The desire to have Patrick as his mate dominates everything again in his mind so fast that it makes his chest ache. More than anything, Pete doesn’t want to be alone; not in this world or his own. _Patrick_ is what he wants; he’s right here and Pete can’t have him. He puts his hands on Patrick’s hips and bites his own lip.

_Not fair._

 

\--

 

Pete doesn’t like thinking about his life before Patrick. It’s not that he doesn’t miss his family or worry about their safety, it’s just that it’s hard for him to look back at the months he spent traveling along the Atlantic coast, alone, adapting to the increasingly colder water the further north he went, when he has Patrick’s hand in his own and his body beside him.

It’s comforting in that he’s not alone anymore, that he isn’t being tracked for his exceptionally rare purple scales, not having to watch his back or stay awake for days at a time to keep one step ahead of the hunters that followed him. But it’s more than that, his safety. It’s Patrick.

Patrick with his calm, light eyes and his gentle voice, his small, soft hands. The way he makes Pete feel secure on land, how much he trusts him, the desire Patrick has to keep him close and teach him how to be a human. It’s Patrick’s fingers on his skin, the press of his lips against Pete’s own. It’s how much his body is telling him _yesyesyes_ and his mind is urging him to mate with Patrick to make sure he doesn’t leave.

It’s absolutely everything about the situation that tells him he loves Patrick.

Except the part where Patrick doesn’t want him back.

 

\--

 

It’s Friday night and Patrick takes Pete grocery shopping when he can no longer deny Pete’s insatiable appetite and the lack of food in his apartment. Pete is doing better around other people; he doesn’t glare or avoid looking at them altogether, but he still clings to Patrick’s arm or grips his hand when someone gets marginally close and he certainly doesn’t like it when anyone else looks at Patrick.

He tries to tell himself to break that train of thought and stop himself from acting like Patrick is his and his alone; because this isn’t his culture and Patrick isn’t his mate. He still can’t help but pout a little when Patrick talks to the young man standing behind the deli counter.

Pete is only a week and a half human and he’s still curious about everything Patrick hasn’t explained to him or let him experience yet. He takes great pleasure in eating everything he can, just to try it. Patrick ends up spending more on food this month than he ever has before, living on his own.

He smiles at the thought, though. Because he’s not living alone anymore.

Pete kisses him in the checkout lane and the cashier gives them a strange look, but she doesn’t do more than smile politely and tell them to have a nice evening.

 

\--

 

They watch the remnants of the sun setting over the tops of the other buildings in Patrick’s complex from the balcony with their feet up on the railing and Pete testing two different types of energy drinks. Patrick’s still not sure the Rockstar and Red Bull are a good idea, but Pete seems fairly disgusted by the taste of both, so he assumes they’ll be able to go to bed tonight without Pete whining about not being tired.

“This is gross,” Pete says, making a face down at the open can in his hand. He sniffs it, takes another sip and then offers it to Patrick as he scrunches up his face.

Patrick laughs and pushes Pete’s hand away. “I don’t want it either.” Pete makes another face and attempts one more drink before setting it down on the deck.

“Remind me that I don’t like that, next time,” he tells Patrick quite seriously.

Patrick just smiles and reaches over to ruffle Pete’s hair with a vague promise of, “Yeah.”

They fall silent for a while, the quiet chirp of crickets starts up not long after the sun disappears and takes all natural light with it. Pete leans his head back and watches the stars come out. “I’m nervous about meeting your friends,” he finally says.

Patrick looks over at him but Pete doesn’t return the gaze so he stares up at the sky as well. “Don’t be, it’s just gonna be Joe and a few other people. And I’m not friends with jerks.”

Pete smiles a little before reaching over the armrest with his fingers spread, palm up. Patrick slips his hand into Pete’s and he sighs inwardly at the warmth that spreads through his chest.

Patrick tries exceedingly hard not to think about what would happen if Pete ever spontaneously turns back into a merman. He clenches his eyes until the panic that rushes him subsides. Pete looks down at their hands though—Patrick’s palm has started to sweat—before looking up at him, eyebrows drawn together.

Patrick relaxes his features and just leans over. Pete immediately meets him halfway and they kiss. Patrick means for it to be brief, just an assurance to Pete that nothing’s wrong, but he ends up with Pete gripping the back of his head, mouth open, tongues pushing against one another.

And he wants, Patrick wants him so badly. He can’t stop himself from latching onto Pete’s bicep with one hand and the armrest with the other; he presses back with a wet sound and a moan that has Pete suddenly standing, breaking the kiss, and climbing onto Patrick’s thighs. He’s just about to tell Pete that they should stop when Pete leans back down and seals their lips together again. He _wants_.

Pete’s doing his best to tell himself to stop, to just get up, stop touching Patrick, quit making it so hard on himself to let his feelings die. But Patrick is touching back, kissing him, letting Pete. He’s encouraging him and suddenly Pete feels angry. Patrick shouldn’t do this to him, give him hope, let him touch and be touched. He pulls back quickly and almost falls off of Patrick’s lap in his haste to stand.

Patrick looks up at Pete, stunned. Pete’s hair is sticking up where Patrick’s hands were fisted in it, his cheeks are flushed in the dim light coming through the sliding glass door behind them; he looks rumpled and out of breath, his lips damp and slightly swollen from the pressure of their kissing and he’s absently licking the corner of his mouth like maybe it’d cracked in the makeout process. Patrick bites back a groan and focuses on the fact that Pete also looks a little upset.

He stands, stifling the ache that has been building in his groin and reaches out to tug Pete’s shirt back down over his exposed side.

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong or if Pete’s okay. He just smiles hesitantly and tells him, “Let’s go inside.”

Pete doesn’t hesitate to nod or follow.

Patrick pours out his energy drinks in the sink, locks up and turns off most of the lights before they head into the bedroom. They don’t fight. They shower together, change into their pajamas and settle down on the bed to watch a movie. It feels only slightly awkward until Patrick can literally feel the moment Pete forgives whatever happened out on the deck and he lifts his foot to rest his leg over Patrick’s.

They sleep curled up together with Pete’s face in Patrick’s neck and Patrick’s knee pushed between Pete’s thighs.

As always, just a little bit closer than the night before.

 

\--

 

Pete stands in front of the bathroom mirror with a shirt in each hand, staring at himself for ten minutes before Patrick knocks on the door and asks him if he’s okay. Pete snaps out of it and opens the door but goes back to looking at his reflection.

“What’s wrong?” Patrick asks, plucking a hat up off the counter.

“Do we have to go?” Pete finally turns to Patrick, biting the inside of his lip.

Patrick is silent a moment, eyeing Pete up and down before shaking his head. “Of course not,” he says softly, stepping closer and rubbing Pete’s side.

Pete feels overwhelmingly guilty; he knows Patrick hasn’t seen any of his friends, except Joe, since he became human, he doesn’t want to keep Patrick from his normal life anymore than he already has. He glances back in the mirror, taking in his appearance before dropping the shirt in his left hand and tugging the one in his right down over his head.

“No, let’s go,” Pete says quietly. Patrick tries to tell him that they don’t have to several more times before Pete pushes him back against the wall and kisses him hard. He does his best to be grateful that Patrick wants to share this part of himself with Pete and ignore the fact that Patrick isn’t entirely his; and probably never will be.

 

\--

 

Joe’s apartment is the perfect size for him, his girlfriend and their dog, but for the dozen or so other people—besides Patrick and Pete—that are inside, it’s a stretch.

From the moment they walk in, Pete feels people all around him, he can barely turn without brushing up against someone or someone touching him. There’re hands to shake and Joe’s girlfriend goes so far as to hug him; it’s not hard or tight and it doesn’t even linger, but he still feels his chest tense and his breathing pick up. He wants out already and they haven’t even made it to the kitchen where Joe is mixing drinks.

Luckily Patrick is there, holding his hand and pulling him through the crowd, waving as a tall guy in a fedora calls out his name and grins. Pete tightens his fingers and tries not to glare.

Pete breathes an audible sigh of relief when their feet hit the linoleum of the brightly-lit kitchen. Joe claps him on the shoulder and pulls Patrick in by an arm around his shoulder.

“You made it!” he declares over the whurr of the blender. “Did you meet Christine?” he asks, leaning past Patrick to look at Pete.

Pete has no idea if he met Christine. Patrick shouts back an affirmative so Pete nods; must have been the girl at the door.

Joe cuts the blender and turns to open a cabinet behind him. “You drinking?” he asks Patrick, who shakes his head while he tells Joe no, he’s driving. Joe takes two glasses down and then raises an eyebrow at Pete. “You want one?”

Pete doesn’t let his eyes get any bigger than they already are. He just grips Patrick’s hand so tight he can feel their opposing pulses in his fingertips. Patrick answers for him. “He doesn’t drink.”

Joe nods. “Cool, more Captain for me,” he says with a grin. “Hey, William’s been lookin’ for you ever since I told him you were gonna be here.”

Pete isn’t sure but he thinks he sees a flash of panic on Patrick’s face before he covers it with a, “Yeah?”

Joe nods again as he takes one glass in each hand and gestures out at the people milling around his apartment. “Gonna give this to Christine. Enjoy yourselves,” he insists with a grin before weaving into the crowd.

Patrick takes a moment to lean into Pete. “All right?” he asks. Pete nods, bringing both of his hands up to tuck strands of Patrick’s hair behind his ears before resituating his hat.

“Fine,” he says quietly, without forcing a small smile.

“When you wanna leave, just say.”

Pete nods again and Patrick takes his hand, leaning in for a quick kiss before easing them back out into the room.

It isn’t long before the tall man with the fedora, which matches nothing he’s wearing, grabs Patrick and plucks him neatly out of Pete’s grasp. Pete tries not to growl and cry at the same time. He watches Patrick let himself be enfolded in too-long arms and narrows his eyes at the kiss pressed to the top of his hat.

“Stump, baby! Where’ve you been all my life?” he asks, letting go to shake Patrick by the shoulder.

Patrick makes a vague gesture before turning slightly and taking Pete’s hand again, pulling him forward. “Around, working a lot.” He looks from Pete to the other guy before saying, “Gabe, this is Pete. Pete, Gabe.”

Gabe is probably the tallest man Pete has ever seen. Pete smiles but Gabe looks down at their hands and then nudges Patrick with his elbow before pulling them both in close. Pete is suddenly under Gabe’s arm with his cheek pressed to his shoulder, looking across the expanse of his chest at Patrick.

“You dirty little liar,” he laughs, shaking Patrick. “’Tricky has a new man! You’ve been too busy _gettin’_ busy to be around.” Pete has only a vague idea at what Gabe is suggesting, but the blush that spreads quickly over Patrick’s face enforces the idea and he pulls back.

Patrick pats Gabe on the arm. “You’re a dirty old man, Saporta.”

“You love it,” Gabe says with a wink.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Pete interrupts, suddenly uncomfortable and wanting to get far, far away from this conversation and this man.

Joe, who happens to be passing by on his way down the hall, gestures around the drink he’s taking. “C’mon,” he says when he swallows. “You can use mine, I don’t think you wanna use the half-bath right now.”

Pete doesn’t even want to know what Joe’s talking about. He’s more than slightly put off when he looks back and Patrick isn’t following him, but is suddenly pulled into conversation by another tall guy, smaller through the middle than even Pete is and showing off his hips like he doesn’t know his shirt doesn’t cover the three inches of skin before his jeans start.

The moment Gabe walks away and leaves Patrick alone with William is a bad one. William’s breath is almost enough to get Patrick buzzed by proximity. He shrugs off the arm William slides over his shoulder and looks around anxiously, not wanting Pete to see to even wonder what’s going on right now.

“Could you not?” Patrick asks, backing up a little towards the hallway that Pete and Joe disappeared down.

“Where’ve you been the past month?” William is a composed drunk. The only real tell-tale sign that he’s even had something to drink is the way his breath gives off his blood-alcohol level. But he’s also always been grabby and now isn’t an exception. 

“Just busy,” Patrick says calmly, looking as nonchalantly as possible down the hall, hoping for Pete to either appear immediately or not at all until he gets rid of William.

William isn’t moving though, he leans against the wall that Patrick has backed up to and slides his finger over the rim of his glass. “Haven’t seen you since the last time we hooked up. Thought you were having your big gay freak out or something.” William never was one for beating around the bush.

Patrick nearly rolls his eyes. “And how long have you known me?” William snorts a small laugh down into his drink. Patrick finally looks him in the eye. “I’ve never been straight a day in my life.”

He immediately regrets saying a word because William’s arm is back around his shoulder and he can feel a sharp slice of bone against his side that he knows is William’s hip. He’s leaning in and just opened his mouth to ask Patrick to leave with him when Pete steps out of Joe’s bedroom, eyes dark, and Patrick’s heart nearly beats right out of his chest.

Joe squeezes past with a _you’re fucked_ look before disappearing.

Pete immediately folds his arms across his chest and stops at Patrick’s other side, glaring over the bill of Patrick’s hat at the other guy. Patrick can practically see the daggers.

William prods Patrick with a finger to his waist before holding his hand out, all dainty and lady-like for Pete to shake. “I’m William,” he says, like Pete should know.

Pete reaches up to briefly touch his hand, nothing that could be termed a handshake, before leaning his shoulder against the wall, mirroring William on Patrick’s other side. “Pete,” he says, trying and failing to keep the growl out of his voice.

Patrick closes his eyes for just a moment, because it’s not like William is some kind of diva super-whore or something. He’s not vindictive or evil, he wouldn’t hit on Patrick in front of Pete if he just _knew_ that Patrick really, really liked him. It’s just that William can’t resist the urge to further someone’s discomfort when he sees the chance. He hides a laugh in his glass before dropping his head down to press against Patrick’s.

He ignores Pete.

“When are we gonna hang out again?”

Patrick feels Pete practically vibrating against his side and one of his hands lands on Patrick’s hip, fumbling until he hooks two fingers through one of Patrick’s belt loops. William slides his own hand across Patrick’s stomach and down, tucking his pinky into the front of Patrick’s jeans, hanging loosely on.

“William,” Patrick starts, reaching down and pulling his hand away. “Why don’t you go bug Gabe or something?”

William shakes his head and leans impossibly closer. “Gabe’s busy,” he says offhandedly. “You’re more fun anyway.”

Patrick hears Pete’s teeth grinding together and this has to stop. He turns his head to tell William that he’s here with Pete when William dips down further and meets his mouth with his own.

Patrick has exactly the amount of time it takes to think, _oh shit_ , and lift both hands to detach himself from William when Pete moves. Patrick’s eyes had widened from the kiss so he sees clearly Pete’s furious face the second it comes into view and he shoves William back.

It’s one of those _this isn’t happening to me_ moments if Patrick’s ever had one. He can see the majority of the people within sight distance stopping to look at them. Pete’s breath is coming too fast, his face is flushed and he’s balling his hands at his sides before reaching back with one and pushing Patrick further away.

“Don’t touch him,” Pete spits. And then Gabe is there, taking William’s upper arm and pulling him away, shocked look still firmly in place, whispering into William’s ear before they disappear into the half-bath together.

Joe’s worried face appears but Patrick just takes Pete’s forearm and says a barely-audible, “Sorry, dude, I’ll call you later.” before leading Pete through the living room and still-staring people and out the door.

 

\--

 

They don’t speak at all to one another on the drive back to Patrick’s apartment.

Patrick’s slightly embarrassed because William is his friend; even though he knows this can be easily smoothed over, that Gabe must have told him that Pete is his boyfriend or whatever. He sighs and drops his jacket down on the table before pulling out one of the chairs and sitting down heavily. He presses his forehead into his hand and doesn’t say a word as Pete stares at him, still buzzing and tense. Pete stalks off after a minute and Patrick listens to the muffled sounds of Pete changing, throwing his clothes around and then going silent.

He gets up from the table and heads into the bedroom.

Pete is laying in the dark, under the covers with the hood of his hoodie pulled up, as far over on his side of the bed, with his back to Patrick, as he can go. Patrick sighs and turns on the bedside light to get into his pajamas. This isn’t at _all_ how he’d hoped tonight was going to go.

He slides into bed beside Pete but he doesn’t touch him. The last thing Patrick wants to do is fight, for the space between them to be uncomfortable and tense. But he doesn’t know how to fix it so he just starts with the most obvious thing to say. “I’m sorry; that didn’t really go the way I’d planned.”

He watches Pete hold his breath a moment before he rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling; pointedly not looking at Patrick.

After a long, thick pause, Pete finally speaks. “He was touching you.” He sounds quiet and unsure and a little angry.

Patrick sighs a little. “Pete, he’s my friend. My friends are gonna do that.”

Pete sits up so fast Patrick gets a head rush just watching him. “He _kissed_ you. And you let him.”

Patrick sits up as well and pushes the covers back. “Pete—”

“Is it like with me?” Pete interrupts. His voice is firm but his cheeks are getting a little pinker.

Patrick feels similarly, hating his pale skin, knowing it’s painfully more obvious that he’s flushing too. But he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to have this discussion. He feels like he’s back in high school playing the blame game, or watching it be played, rather. Who cheated on who, who’s done what and when. It’s ridiculous and yet he knows that if Pete needs this, needs Patrick to tell him, that he’s going to; regardless of how embarrassed he is.

“It’s not the same,” he says quietly, looking down at his hand on the mattress sheet.

He can tell it’s not the answer Pete was hoping for. Pete’s fingers twist in the sheet that’s still draped over his waist. “How is it close, then?”

Patrick stops himself from just blurting out everything he and William have ever done together after a hard night of drinking. It rarely ever happened when one of them was sober and it was never more than just for fun. But he doesn’t know how to tell Pete this without Pete thinking that _he’s_ just for fun too.

He reaches over slowly and takes Pete’s hand. Pete doesn’t pull back but he doesn’t tighten his fingers either. In fact, he doesn’t look up or at Patrick at all. He stays focused on the sheet.

“It’s not close,” Patrick says quietly. Pete still doesn’t look at him. He doesn’t want to have the relationship talk; not after he’s told himself so vehemently that there’s never going to _be_ a relationship because Pete only likes him due to lack of options. He knows he’s just setting himself up for heartache when he continues. “It’s nothing like you, it never was. It’s never going to be.” Pete still doesn’t look at him so Patrick lets go of his hand and turns Pete’s head until he can press their foreheads together.

Pete reaches up, releasing a desperate breath and grasps Patrick’s elbow. He closes his eyes and just breathes, harsh and labored like he’s trying to keep himself from spilling a secret. “I can’t do this, Patrick.”

The whimper in his voice stops Patrick’s heart in his chest. “Can’t do what, Pete?” he forces himself to ask. This is it, this is the end of everything.

But Pete just shakes his head and pulls Patrick in, their lips pressing together wetly. Patrick opens his mouth when Pete does and their tongues meet instantly. Pete sucks in a breath against Patrick’s cheek, tilting his head further. And this doesn’t feel like the letdown Patrick has been setting himself up to deal with. The hands on his face are damp and clammy and Pete’s mouth feels desperate. Patrick opens his eyes and Pete just looks so tense and suddenly Patrick knows just how wrong he’s been reading the situation.

He pulls back with a wet sound and Pete opens his eyes, face drawn and hands falling down to Patrick’s thighs.

“Tell me, right now, what you want, Pete,” Patrick says, panting more than he should from just one kiss. “I can’t guess anymore.”

Pete surges forward again, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s neck and sealing their lips together again. They kiss hard and fast and Patrick can barely push Pete back when he tries to climb into his lap.

“You, Patrick, I just want _you_.”

And somehow, everything Patrick’s been fearing about Pete really not realizing exactly what and who he could have if he wanted, doesn’t feel realistic. Pete is sitting in his bed looking at him like he’s the only thing Pete ever wants to see. It’s all Patrick needs and he nods, leaning in this time, pushing Pete backwards.

Pete leans back into the pillows without much coaxing. He tries to wrap his legs around Patrick’s waist when he lays his body over top of Pete’s, but Patrick reaches down, hands finding the hollows of Pete’s pajama-clad knees and pressing them open.

“If we do this, if we do _us_ ,” Pete nods while Patrick speaks, eyes wide, trying not to arch up against where Patrick’s erection is rubbing against his own, “we can’t go back.”

“I don’t want to go back,” Pete rasps, leaning up and tangling his fingers in Patrick’s hair. “Patrick, _please_.”

Patrick doesn’t need him to beg, doesn’t need anything more than the want and need emanating off of Pete’s prone form. He crushes their mouths together long enough for Pete to groan and thrust up against him before breaking away and moving down. He kicks the sheet away and tugs down on Pete’s pajama bottoms.

“Lift,” Patrick whispers, nudging Pete’s shirt and hoodie up with his nose to press a kiss to his stomach. Pete swallows hard and braces his feet on the bed and does as he’s told. “Take this off,” Patrick continues, reaching up with one hand to push at Pete’s shirt. Patrick watches his shaking fingers skim quickly down his own stomach and rip both off up over his head at the same time.

He stares down at Patrick, panting and wide-eyed, like he’s never— Patrick cuts off that train of thought immediately because he _knows_ Pete’s never. He’s never _any_ of this. Patrick’s the first and he’s determined to be the only. He kisses Pete’s stomach again, gazing up his lean, tanned torso and connecting their gazes.

Pete reaches down and rubs his cheek, reaching up with both hands to remove his hat. Patrick suddenly realizes that he’s still fully clothed while Pete is naked and hard and vulnerable under him. He sits up and panic flashes through Pete’s eyes, he props himself up on his elbows, trying to sit up, but Patrick stops him with a hand to the middle of his chest.

He gets to his knees and pulls his shirt off, tossing it to the floor and then lowers himself again, mouthing slow, wet kisses up Pete’s thigh.

“Bring your knees up,” Patrick instructs him, guiding them over his shoulders. He leans in, rubbing his fingers into the joints of Pete’s hips and glances up one final time. He’s not going to ask again, he knows he himself is sure, but the look on Pete’s face just drives it home for him. Pete wants this.

Patrick lowers his head and drags his tongue across the head of Pete’s cock. Pete arches immediately, the heels of his feet digging into Patrick’s shoulder blades. Patrick lets go when he’s sure Pete won’t move his legs and grasps Pete’s straining erection in his hand.

A few quick pumps have Pete leaking over the sides of his fingers when he draws up near the head. He thumbs the slit and Pete cries out, pressing further back into the pillow and pulling at the sheets. Patrick smiles to himself before opening his mouth and sinking down on Pete.

Nothing in his life has _ever_ felt like this. Not when he was with his own kind, not when Patrick touched him, not even the first time they kissed. It wasn’t like this, it didn’t have the feeling, the trust. Pete can’t stop the sounds coming from his mouth. He knows he’s being too loud, he knows he’s probably moving too much, but Patrick just keeps sucking him, gliding smoothly up and down his erection and humming in the back of his throat.

There’s no way he can hold on. He thinks back to the lake and his hand between Patrick’s thighs, how long he lasted, arching up into Pete’s stomach. Pete tries. He digs his feet into Patrick’s back and whimpers, biting his lip.

Patrick smoothes his free hand up over the curve of Pete’s hip and down over his ass, squeezing lightly and listening to Pete’s stuttered breathing. He takes his eyes off what he’s doing and looks up, taking in the arch of Pete’s back, the wet gaze meeting his own, his face flushed and pupils blown. Patrick groans and Pete cries out his name and comes.

Patrick swallows what he can, feels the rest dripping from the corners of his mouth and wipes it away before Pete comes back down.

He’s breathless and sweaty, hair matted to his forehead, spread out on Patrick’s bed like nothing Patrick has ever seen before. Patrick barely has time to register Pete opening his eyes and rolling on top of him before Pete’s got his hands down between them, fighting with the tie to Patrick’s pajama bottoms. And then there’s a warm, tight hand around him and Patrick can’t even last one whole stroke before he chokes on a breath and explodes in Pete’s fist.

They’re sticky and hot and completely sated, laying pressed against one another for a long few minutes before Patrick kisses him. His mouth still tastes like Pete’s come but Pete doesn’t seem to mind. Their tongues roll together lazily until Patrick needs to breathe and he pulls away.

His heart is throbbing in his throat and he knows that it’s not just adrenaline and the sexual afterglow. It’s _Pete_.

They kiss lightly for a moment more before Patrick pulls Pete out of bed and into the shower. Undetermined amounts of time and hot water are lost between the two of them and the press of their hips together before they actually get to washing anything.

The sheets are messy and damp and Patrick changes them before they get back into bed and curl into one another.

There isn’t an inch of space between the two of them when they fall asleep.

 

\--

 

It’s raining the morning after Joe’s party, the night Patrick and Pete both come to consider the night the other truly became theirs.

Patrick opens his eyes and blinks tiredly into Pete’s hair, which is all but covering his face. Pete is still breathing steadily against his jaw, arm limp around Patrick’s side and his legs curled up close to his body. The last thing Patrick really wants to do is get up, but his mouth is dry and he really needs to check his stocks.

He slowly moves Pete off of him, reaching for one of his pillows and placing it quickly in Pete’s arms when Pete whines in his sleep at the loss of contact. Patrick watches him for a minute, making sure he isn’t going to wake up or reject the feather-filled substitute.

Patrick grabs a hoodie off the floor and tugs it down over his head as he makes his way into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. He waits, watching out the sliding glass door as the rain drizzles outside and sighing at the dark gray sky. He’d wanted to take Pete out for breakfast this morning.

He huffs quietly to himself, digging around in the cupboard for his thermal mug and filling it to the brim before heading into the spare bedroom-turned office and sitting at his computer.

He isn’t there long before he hears movement coming from their bedroom—he grins at the thought of it being theirs—but long enough that he knows he’s not put off work so much that he’s dug himself a hole he can’t get out of. He’s just finishing up an email to his partner in New York about bailing on the airline stock they’d purchased a month ago when he senses more than hears Pete behind him.

Patrick turns in the chair and smiles warmly. Pete is sleep-rumpled, his hair standing up at every possible angle, rubbing at the back of his neck as he yawns, then reaching down to scratch at his low stomach before grinning at Patrick. He’s wearing nothing but the pajama bottoms Patrick had forced him to slip into when they got out of the shower the night before. Patrick’s fairly certain that Pete would be completely content to walk around naked if Patrick would let him.

Pete doesn’t wait for an invitation; he shuffles into the room and drops onto Patrick’s lap, both arms around his neck, nuzzling at his cheek. Patrick turns his head and Pete kisses him.

It’s warm and lazy and Patrick has to tell himself to stop before the slow, wet sounds their mouths are making do anything else besides make him hold Pete tighter. He pulls away and Pete licks his lips.

“Your mouth tastes good,” he remarks, leaning back in and sealing their lips together again. A searching swipe of Pete’s tongue to the back of his mouth makes Patrick laugh and ease away again.

He reaches for his mug of coffee and offers it to Pete. Pete takes it in both hands, bringing his feet up to brace against Patrick’s thigh, and raises it to his nose. He sniffs and then takes a sip. It’s not scalding hot anymore, so Patrick doesn’t worry about him burning the inside of his mouth, but he does worry about Pete choking as he takes a huge gulp. Patrick removes the mug from his grip and Pete smacks his lips, grinning broadly down at Patrick.

“I like it,” he says, still smiling, leaning in for another, longer kiss that has Patrick fumbling blindly to put his coffee down [hopefully not on his keyboard].

Pete kisses him lazily, the taste of the hazelnut creamer Patrick has just switched to more prevalent than the taste of the coffee itself. Patrick makes himself pull away again, rubbing at Pete’s low back with the arm around his waist and taking his hand with the other.

Pete tilts his head until he’s got his forehead pressed to Patrick’s temple, staring at the computer screen.

“What are you doing?” he asks quietly, holding Patrick’s hand in both of his, tracing invisible designs across his skin.

“Working, just trading stocks.” Pete focuses his uncomprehending gaze on him. “It’s hard to explain.” Pete shrugs slightly and turns back to the computer. Patrick suddenly wonders if Pete can read. And when he asks he’s almost startled by the answer.

“Not well. We don’t have the need for it as much as you do.”

Patrick finds himself staring at Pete, just a little in awe. “You read English?”

Pete nods absently before raising a hand to the screen and pointing out Patrick’s name above his email inbox. “That’s you,” he says, sounding a little dreamy and a little like he’s about to fall back asleep.

But the conversation at hand has Patrick’s attention entirely. It’s just occurred to him that, while they’d decided on calling him Pete, they’d never picked a last name for him. Which, as smart as Patrick is, is a ridiculously stupid thing for him to overlook. He mutters under his breath and Pete looks at him curiously as Patrick reaches for the mouse.

He moves it over his thigh, clicking back to the news page on his browser, scanning articles until one catches his eye; it’s almost oddly relevant, the only story in the Great Lakes area. He skims through it and then explains the situation to Pete, who just nods, the unwavering trust and faith he has in anything and everything Patrick says coming to the surface. He reads the story to Pete. 

Pete likes the name, says it looks weird. Patrick smiles and pulls Pete’s head down, pressing their lips together and whispering against them, “Pete Wentz.”

 

\--

 

There’s a diner about a twenty minute walk from Patrick’s apartment. If it weren’t raining Patrick would have enjoyed taking the time to walk over, but as it was the rain was gaining force from a lazy drizzle to a steady downpour. Pete wanted to walk anyway, smiling in childish wonder as he jumped off the curb into a fairly deep puddle near Patrick’s car. Patrick was just glad he’d advised Pete to wear boots instead of canvas shoes.

“It’s not like this underwater,” Pete says at a stoplight, looking out his window and reaching back blindly for Patrick’s hand.

Patrick slides their fingers together and spends the remainder of the red light admiring the difference in their skin tones.

“What’s it like?” Patrick asks when the light turns green.

Pete looks back, turning towards him and fidgeting with the seatbelt before answering. “It’s quieter. If you stay down far enough you won’t even know it’s raining. The only time we really care is when it storms because the water gets too cloudy to see through.” His voice goes quiet near the end and Patrick glances over at him. “Sometimes fledglings get separated from their families.”

Patrick squeezes his hand and Pete is solemn for a minute longer until Patrick lets go of his hand to make the left turn into the diner’s parking lot. Pete grins when he splashes through several more puddles and retakes Patrick’s hand at the door.

The waitress that usually works the Sunday morning shift isn’t in and Patrick asks about her once he and Pete are seated across from one another in a booth.

“Called in,” the young black-haired waitress tells him, setting down a glass of water before each of them and cocking her hip slightly. “Her grandkid’s sick or something.” She talks around a wad of gum in her mouth and Patrick finds himself grateful that she won’t be handling his food. “Do you need a few minutes?” she asks and Patrick nods, polite smile in place. But she’s not looking at him, she’s looking at Pete and lowering her heavily-lined eyes to gaze at him through her clumpy lashes.

Patrick can practically see her tip wavering off into nothing.

“Yeah,” Patrick says a little too loudly, getting her attention back. “We need a minute.”

“Sure,” she says, smiling again at Pete before walking off, swaying her hips just a little too much to be unintentional.

Pete doesn’t look though, he’s already got the menu in his hand, eyes crawling slowly over the laminated pages, eyeing everything carefully.

“What’s a crêpe?” he asks after a moment and Patrick is able to soothe out the jealousy and tell him.

Pete wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “I don’t think I’d like that.”

“You probably would, actually,” Patrick tells him. Pete’s got a sweet tooth unlike any Patrick’s ever encountered.

“Oh,” Pete says absently, eyes straying over to a picture of a stack of pancakes five high. He glances over the top of his menu at Patrick. “Aren’t you hungry?” Patrick doesn’t need to open the menu to know what he wants. He’s gotten the same thing almost every Sunday morning for the past year and a half since he found this place. He assures Pete he’s fine and Pete smiles at him before going back to deciding.

The waitress—Amy, her nametag says—returns to take their order and Patrick’s eyes narrow. She looks like she’s put on an extra coat of lipgloss while she was gone. He resists the urge to roll his eyes and orders a cup of coffee and his usual breakfast combo.

Pete settles on orange juice, coffee, the five-high pancakes and the fruit plate. Seriously, bottomless stomach, Patrick thinks.

“Sure thing,” Amy grins, trailing her hand over Pete’s shoulder as she heads back towards the kitchen to put their orders in.

This time, Pete looks down at the touch and glances over his shoulder, eyebrows drawn tightly together as he stares, before turning back to Patrick. For a second Patrick doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or not until Pete scoots further in on his side of the booth and reaches across the table for Patrick’s hand.

They’re quiet for a while until a young couple with two small children [one in a baby carrier and a toddler with ice blonde hair in pigtails] are seated across from them. Pete sits up and stares, blandly and openly as the woman removes the blanket covering the baby carrier and carefully lifts a little boy out of it.

Patrick taps the back of Pete’s hand to draw his attention away. It might be okay for Pete to stare in wonder at their neighbor’s dog when he takes him out in the afternoons, or even at people on the street in passing, or touching everything in sight at the store, but staring wide-eyed and rapt in close proximity at someone’s small children is a surefire way to get Pete arrested.

Patrick tells him as much and Pete hunches down in his hoodie, staring at their fingers before taking his hand back and playing with his straw wrapper.

“I just like babies,” Pete tells him quietly.

Patrick sympathizes. It’s simultaneously the greatest upside and downside to relationships with men; no one can get pregnant.

“Me too.”

Pete looks up at him, quiet and eyes still wide, he stares hard for long enough to make Patrick want to squirm. But Pete just grins and looks down, as if blushing. Patrick doesn’t know what to make of it, but Amy interrupts with their food a moment later and he forgets about it.

 

\--

 

Patrick is trying to watch CNN, eyeing the stock bars scrolling at the bottom, making mental and written notes as they go, when Pete comes down the hallway and sits on his lap.

It isn’t something Patrick would ignore even if he had to, because Pete is naked and kissing him. Patrick knocks his notepad off the arm of the couch in his haste to get both of his hands on Pete’s shower-wet skin. Pete’s fingers curl into his hair, tossing his hat to the floor and sighing into his mouth as he arches up a little against Patrick’s shirt-clad stomach.

Patrick feels him, hard already, and reaches down between them, curling his fingers into a fist and pulling at Pete, slow and tight.

Pete raises up onto his knees a little with each tug and whimpers when Patrick lets go to fumble with his belt. Pete blinks himself back into awareness and pushes Patrick’s hands out of the way, reaching into his pants and pulling him out. Patrick takes both of their cocks into one of his hands and pumps them together.

Pete sighs, his head tilted back and his hands planted on either side of Patrick’s head on the wall behind them.

“That’s it, Pete,” Patrick says quietly when Pete’s hips begin to stutter and his breathing grows rapid. “Come on.” Pete whimpers at the sound of his voice and comes on Patrick’s wrist and shirt when he thumbs the head of Pete’s erection, shouting hoarsely.

Patrick sucks a dark bruise into Pete’s neck to keep himself quiet as he comes in his own fist, so he can hear Pete’s low sounds of pleasure as he rocks through his orgasm into Patrick’s hand.

It takes Pete a while to come down, slumped against Patrick and starting to shake until Patrick reaches for the quilt folded over the other armrest and pulls it around his shoulders. Pete smiles slowly and bundles himself up, sliding off of Patrick’s lap to sit beside him, his legs over Patrick’s thighs and his head on his shoulder.

Patrick pulls his shirt up over his head and tosses it towards the hallway closet, which houses the washer and dryer, before settling back into the cushions with Pete’s warming body beside him. He slides his arm around Pete’s back and listens to the sound of the still-increasing rain outside over the dull drone of the TV.

It’s quiet and calm and Patrick is blissfully sated and clearly not expecting it when Pete asks him suddenly, “How do you reproduce?”

Patrick doesn’t think anyone would blame him for choking on the breath he was taking. 

“ _What_?”

Pete pulls back a little at the incredulous tone of Patrick’s voice. He sounds defensive when he continues, his cheeks a little pinker than before. “Well, I mean, it’s not like us, I just don’t understand how. Have we done it already?”

“Have we done it,” Patrick repeats; it’s not a question, it’s something like shock that has him speaking.

Pete sits up and folds his legs, not touching Patrick and holding the quilt tighter to him. “Yeah, have we mated?”

Patrick tries not to choke again, on his saliva this time as he attempts to swallow. “No, not yet.”

Patrick doesn’t close his eyes in what he knows would be a fruitless prayer, because Pete continues on a moment later. “How do we do it then?” When Patrick only blushes so hard he thinks his face is going to burst into flames Pete quickly adds, “I mean, you want to, with me. Right?”

He sounds small and worried and Patrick is able to force himself into speaking before he really feels prepared for what might end up coming out of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah of course, Pete, I do,” he coughs and looks at Pete, “I want to.”

Pete purses his lips and then smiles a bit. “I want to too.” He seems to be bouncing a little in place and Patrick can see the questions, hear the cogs grinding together in Pete’s mind, formulating the embarrassing questions Patrick never thought he was going to have to answer about the birds and the bees. “How do we do it? If you don’t lay eggs, I mean.”

And really, Patrick knows no one would blame him for the long minute he spends just calming his heart rate and breathing before he launches into an explanation filled with thick pauses and more stuttering than the time he’d told his mom he was gay.

Pete’s eyes get wide and his blinks get slower and longer in between each one as he listens. “You put it _where_?” Pete asks, pulling the edges of the blanket inward further, his eyes getting impossibly wider.

Patrick kind of wants the floor to open up and eat him, but that would leave Pete sitting alone, naked on his couch with no answer to his question; so Patrick continues.

“So,” Pete says after a long, tense minute that has Patrick rubbing embarrassedly at the back of his neck, “where do your offspring come from then?”

“Well, I mean, when… when you come,” Patrick can’t believe what he’s saying, “inside a woman’s body,” kill him, someone, “it can fertilize the egg.” Pete nods, he remembers the eggs, since Patrick told him his species didn’t actually lay them. “The baby grows from that. Inside her stomach.”

Pete chews on his lower lip, considering everything and Patrick _prays_ that it’s over, that Pete knows everything he wants to know. But he opens his mouth again a moment later and Patrick closes his eyes. “How does it get out?”

It’s still raining a half hour later when Patrick has fielded all of Pete’s burning questions about human procreation and Patrick feels vaguely ill. But Pete just leans over and kisses him before standing and heading back down the hallway. He returns a few minutes later in a pair of Patrick’s pajama bottoms and the t-shirt he’d worn the first night he became human and merely declares himself to be hungry.

Patrick orders them a pizza and they makeout, Pete sitting on the table with Patrick between his thighs, until it arrives.

 

\--

 

William calls while Patrick is loading the dishwasher and apologizes for acting like a jackass at Joe’s party.

“Don’t worry about it,” Patrick tells him after putting the detergent back and starting the dishwasher. “It actually kinda helped,” he admits. “We were just dancing around each other for a while there.”

Patrick can hear William’s grin through the speaker. “As long as you’re happy.” Patrick waits; William would never leave it at that. “I’m gonna miss your ass though, that thing is a great joy in my life. Well, it _was_ anyway.”

Patrick laughs. “Oh go to hell.”

William laughs too. “Just tell your boyfriend I’m sorry I macked on his man in front of him. I owe him a beer.”

“Doesn’t drink.”

“Then I owe him a blowjob.”

“William—”

“Joking, Patrick,” William says through a laugh. “Anyway, he’s hot, you’re hot, it’s Sunday night and the mood is right—”

Patrick cuts off his singing before it can gain any steam. “I’m hanging up now.”

“That’s what I’m _saying_!” William practically shouts in his ear. “Go get you some!”

Patrick calls him an asshat and hangs up.

 

\--

 

Patrick doesn’t, in fact, get himself some.

He and Pete spend the rest of the night talking and watching movies on the couch before holding each other up on the long, stumbling walk into the bedroom and falling asleep on top of the covers.

When Pete wakes up it’s the early afternoon and he’s still curled up against Patrick’s side. He uses the bathroom and brushes his teeth before trying and failing to smooth his hair down. He returns to the bed and gently climbs on top of Patrick’s body, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his jaw, trailing up to his ear where he whispers the opening line to a lullaby his mother used to sing to him.

Patrick’s eyes flutter open at the sound and he smiles, trailing his hands up Pete’s thighs, on either side of his waist, to settle on his hips. Pete finishes the verse without actually singing it and presses his lips gently to Patrick’s ear before heading back to his mouth.

They makeout lazily for a while until the sound of Patrick’s cell on the bedside table jolts them both apart. Patrick laughs breathlessly and reaches for it. Normally he wouldn’t have, but the ringtone is his New York partner’s and it’s probably about the airline stock. He kisses Pete, who crawls off of him to kneel on the bed.

“Let me take this and then we’ll get lunch okay?”

Pete nods and smiles, hopping off the other side of the bed to find a pair of jeans in the folded laundry by the foot of the bed as Patrick answers the phone.

 

\--

 

They wind up picking Joe up at the marina and taking him out to lunch. Patrick watches Pete stare longingly out at the water as they drive by and can’t quite quell the sinking feeling in his stomach that maybe Pete’s getting homesick. He makes a mental note to himself to get Pete back out on the water if he wants; his boat hasn’t been away from the dock in almost two weeks.

Joe picks a quiet Italian restaurant and manages to still be the greatest friend Patrick’s ever had when he doesn’t mention anything that happened at the party on Saturday. But then fucks it up by asking questions that Patrick hasn’t thought of an answer to yet.

“So how’d you guys meet?”

Beside him, Patrick feels Pete’s leg tense, but he doesn’t otherwise respond, letting Patrick field it. Luckily Patrick’s mouth is full of chicken cacciatore so he has a moment to chew, swallow and think, all at the same time.

“The marina,” Patrick finally says, reaching for his water glass, wishing he’d gone for the house wine when it was offered before they ordered.

Joe turns to Pete. “Oh, you work there?” He sounds unsure; mostly because he’s belonged to the marina for longer than Patrick and he’s never seen Pete there before, Patrick’s sure.

Pete shakes his head, pushing a meatball through his spaghetti, looking at it rather than Joe. “Fish enthusiast,” he says, voice low and serious.

Joe snorts a laugh into his napkin before replacing it on his lap. “So you fish for sport or something?”

Pete does look up at that, his eyes wide. “I’d never hurt a fish.”

Joe’s eyes swing over to Patrick’s, eyebrow raised. Patrick coughs. “Environmentalist,” he says by way of explanation.

“Oh,” Joe says, shaking his head a little before digging back into his food. Patrick sighs a little under his breath and reaches over to squeeze Pete’s thigh; he feels it shake just a little before Pete begins bouncing his leg nervously. “So, Pete,” Joe continues, “where you from?”

Patrick opens his mouth to respond with an answer he hasn’t even thought up yet when Pete speaks. “Lake Champlain.”

Patrick manages to keep his eyebrows from shooting up to his hairline; barely. Pete goes on to tell Joe about the island he’s from, what the summer and winter is like. Joe nods along with the occasional, “Oh that’s sweet, dude. Sounds killer.”

By the time he’s done, Patrick almost believes that Pete’s from a lake in New York. They get around having to discuss anything else involving Pete’s life story and drop Joe off at his apartment.

“Thanks for the ride,” he says, clapping Patrick’s shoulder through the open car window.

“You really need to get a new car, man,” Patrick tells him.

Joe just rolls his eyes and starts heading for the sidewalk. “You’re tellin’ me. If I have to get that piece of shit towed one more place I’m done. See ya guys!”

Pete waves at Joe’s retreating back before leaning over to kiss Patrick. Patrick can barely wait for him to pull away before he’s asking, “Lake Champlain?”

Pete just nods and leans back in the seat, propping his feet up on the dashboard. He wiggles his toes in his flipflops and grins down at them, which makes Patrick smile; Pete’s still completely in awe of his human body sometimes.

“I spent a couple months there until it got too cold. Not on the island obviously, but I watched enough people to know what it’s like.” He rolls his head over to look at Patrick and Patrick chances a car accident to look back. But Pete just stays silent, staring at him so Patrick turns his attention back to the road and raises the back of Pete’s hands to his lips when Pete reaches for him.

 

\--

 

It doesn’t happen like Patrick has been thinking it would. There’s none of the dramatic buildup of hot and heavy touching or kissing, no shoving each other into walls or tearing of clothes. No desperate grinding and _take me now_ s. They’re just in the bedroom, when they get home, Pete changing into his pajamas again and Patrick sitting on the bed, magazine open before him when Pete crawls over to him and kisses him.

Patrick kicks the magazine to the floor before pulling Pete to him and stretching out. They kiss with growing pressure but never out of control. It doesn’t reach a fever pitch when Pete straddles his thigh and grinds down, but it’s enough. Patrick knows what’s happening.

He rolls Pete onto his back and kisses him hard, dipping his tongue in and teasing Pete’s easily into movement with his own. Patrick’s hard and uncomfortable in his jeans after only a few minutes of rocking against Pete, listening to his breathing becoming labored and feeling the hard press of his cock against his own.

Patrick breaks away and Pete whimpers, folding his legs around Patrick’s thighs, keeping him close. “Patrick, don’t, please don’t.”

But Patrick just leans down on his elbows, their faces close, and brushes his fingers through Pete’s dampening hairline. They’re quiet for a minute, the only sound between them their breathing and the shifting of their pants together as Pete tries to still his hips. “Are you sure about this, Pete?” Patrick asks, not bothering to play any kind of coy. This is Pete, this is their relationship. Shit, this is _everything_ and he’s not going to mess around with it. He knows what Pete wants and he wants to give it to him, wants to give him everything he ever asks Patrick for.

Pete nods and swallows, his throat dry. He scratches his fingers up through Patrick’s sideburns and arches his hips again. “Yes, please, I—.” He cuts himself off, at a loss, but Patrick gets it.

Patrick presses their lips together again before whispering, “Me too.”

It takes him a moment to get Pete to drop his legs and strip him of the pajamas he’s just put on, but he manages and then lets Pete do the same for him. He feels self-conscious by comparison but Pete is leaking against his own stomach when he settles back against the pillows, the flush of arousal spreading down his neck to his chest and his legs braced open and apart. Patrick has no doubt that, whatever Pete sees when he looks at him, it’s what he wants. Patrick isn’t going to question _anything_.

He digs a tube of lube out of his nightstand and coats two of his fingers before laying himself down on top of Pete and rubbing the tips of both against his entrance. Pete’s thighs flutter like he’s going to snap them closed, but he keeps them braced apart and relaxes enough, with Patrick whispering against his jaw, planting kisses as he speaks, for Patrick to slip a finger in to the first knuckle.

It takes a while, Pete unused to the feeling but accepting and wanting more by the time Patrick works in a third. He arches his back and clenches his eyes when Patrick gets close to brushing his prostate. His stomach feels weird and tight and he’s too hot in his own body. He wants more. “Patrick, please,” he starts and then gasps when Patrick _does_ nudge his prostate. Instinctively he grabs for his cock, tugging at it before he realizes what he’s doing. Patrick stops him, squeezing hard at the base, causing Pete to lift his hips and cry out. “ _Please_!”

“Shh,” Patrick breathes out, easing his fingers from Pete’s body, his cock beginning a steady leak at the whimper Pete lets loose. “Don’t touch yourself.” Pete nods and Patrick lets go of his dick. Pete fists his hands in the sheets and Patrick fumbles for a condom. It’s not that he’s never not been safe before, it’s that this is Pete; and, well, that’s a good enough reason to make sure nothing happens.

Patrick coats his dick, pumping his fist a few more times than necessary to make sure that the condom is on. Pete watches, eyes wide. “Don’t,” he gasps, “if I can’t you can’t.”

Patrick laughs, despite the situation, and lifts Pete’s thighs, getting into position before dropping a kiss to his lips. “Just tell me if you wanna stop.” Pete nods and begins trying to tug him forward. “I mean it, Pete. I’ll stop, just say.”

Pete nods again and Patrick lifts his legs, instructing him to place them around his waist. When he feels Pete’s heels digging into his back he takes his erection in hand and rubs the head against Pete. He doesn’t make a verbal response but Patrick watches the shift in his expression. He flushes and his mouth drops open when Patrick pushes in; he wants it.

He’s halfway in and on his way to losing his mind at the feel of it when Pete slaps at his shoulder and whispers, “Wait, _wait_.”

Patrick freezes, cock throbbing and his hips absolutely shaking with the need to continue. “All right?” he asks, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Pete is still a moment, breathing shallow, then he shifts and scoots carefully further down and nods. “Keep going.”

Patrick slides in the rest of the way without incident. He stops, leaning down and pressing his damp forehead to Pete’s, gasping when Pete clenches reflexively around him. “Okay?” he asks after a moment.

Pete takes his time in responding, and Patrick vaguely thinks he’s going to come or die [or both] if Pete’s body contracts one more time.

But Pete nods, eyes opening, sliding one hand down between them to stroke himself back to full hardness. “Can you move?” Pete asks, voice high and breathy.

Patrick kisses him hard and pulls back.

It isn’t long before they’ve established a rhythm. Pete pushes down to meet his every thrust, one hand digging into Patrick’s shoulder, the other on his own cock, jerking hard. With his legs spread and head back, panting and looking up at Patrick in some kind of awe, Pete is, hands down, the most gorgeous thing Patrick has ever seen.

A surge of possessiveness rages up inside of him and he finds himself thrusting faster, Pete crying out at the change of pace, tugging on Patrick’s neck, holding on as Patrick pulls him into the rhythm. Pete is fucking amazing under him, tight and wet, and no one has _ever_ touched Pete or had him like Patrick does right now. The thought nearly drives him over the edge and he eases up, rotating his hips in slower circles. Pete groans and lets go of his erection to pull Patrick down into a kiss.

“Don’t stop,” Pete rasps, “please, I can’t—”

But Patrick has already started thrusting again, knowing he’s nearly there, panting with exertion when he finally finds the angle that makes Pete cry out, loud and hysterical into the air between them. Patrick shifts his hips and keeps it up, digging his fingers into Pete’s hips and bottoming out each time against Pete’s prostate.

Patrick drops a hand between them, unable to keep the pace much longer; he wants to get Pete off, he needs it. He thumbs the head, smearing precome over Pete’s dick and leaning down to bite at his lower lip. Pete comes with a surprised gasp a few moments later, choking on the moan that catches in his throat. Patrick has just enough time to think, _mine_ and feel Pete’s come splatter on his stomach before he’s thrusting deep, his hips slamming into Pete’s and crying out Pete’s name. He stills inside of him, arms shaking as he comes, barely managing to hold himself up throughout it.

Neither of them move for a long minute. Patrick reaches down to help pull himself out while Pete is still a boneless, sweaty mess under him and knots off the condom. Patrick barely makes it into the bathroom and back before his legs give out and he collapses on his side against Pete; tugging the covers up over them.

It’s still another couple minutes before Pete even opens his eyes to focus on Patrick. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is sticking to his forehead and his eyes are just filled to the fucking brim with what Patrick is afraid to put a name on. But he knows, he _knows_ ; the look reflected in his own smile as he pulls Pete in and kisses him gently.

Pete curls his body up, wincing at the movement, but settling easily in Patrick’s arms. They kiss gently for a little while longer before Pete rests his head on Patrick’s pillow and presses his face to his neck, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly into Patrick’s throat.

Patrick is almost asleep when Pete nuzzles in impossibly closer and bends to kiss his chest, right above his heart and whispers, “…all I ever wanted.”

And Patrick? He knows the fucking feeling. He just holds Pete tighter and brushes a kiss against the top of his head. He waits until he’s certain Pete’s asleep to say under his breath, “Love you,” with all the feeling and certainty that has been building and growing since Pete touched his hand over the side of the boat and left that single drop of water on his fingertip.

Pete is _his_ , plain and simple, and Patrick drifts off to sleep easy in the knowledge.

When Pete actually does fall asleep, not long after, it’s with a warm smile and a buzzing in his mind and chest that he’s never known before .

 

\--

 

The night after they finally have sex, Pete wakes up screaming.

Patrick calms him down after several minutes of Pete tucked up against the headboard with his knees to his chest, eyeing Patrick like a wild animal murmuring repeatedly under his breath, “Don’t touch me.”

He cries for the first time since he broke the surface to interact with Patrick, for the first time since he left home. Patrick just watches him at a loss for what to do; finally risking backlash when he tentatively places his hand on Pete’s forearm.

Pete looks at him slowly, eyes seeming to clear up in a matter of moments, the confusion and fear gone, leaving only the tears, and he hastily climbs into Patrick’s lap. Patrick just holds on, rubbing his back and telling him that it’s okay. He doesn’t know what _it_ is, but he doesn’t stop saying it.

Eventually Pete relaxes enough that Patrick can get him back under the covers and he presses his front to Pete’s back, holding him tightly in the pre-dawn light. When Patrick kisses the back of his neck Pete twists around and seals himself against Patrick, face pressed hard against Patrick’s pulse, legs and arms twisted around his body.

Patrick doesn’t fall back asleep until well after Pete has.

 

\--

 

Pete doesn’t act like he remembers much about the nightmare the next morning or his reaction to it. Patrick doesn’t remind him; just hopes to hell it wasn’t about him and what they did.

 

\--

 

Pete’s utterly insatiable over the next few days. He wakes Patrick up every morning, rubbing against his leg and sucking on the sleep-warm skin of his throat. Pete whimpers and groans, climbing atop him when Patrick wakes up enough to be fully conscious of his erection. He barely has time to grab a condom before Pete is on him, rocking down on his cock, self-prepared and slick between his thighs. Pete’s hips pick up the pace and sweat begins beading along his hairline.

Patrick reaches for his dick and jerks him off to a litany of moans and _come on, Patrick, please_ s mouthed against his jaw. When Pete comes on his chest Patrick comes soon after, rolling Pete onto his back and driving into him with renewed force.

Each time Pete wraps his legs around Patrick’s waist and urges him to finish inside of him. Patrick has never come harder in his life.

Pete nuzzles up to him, warm and happy, and they makeout for as long as Patrick can stand the drying mess between them.

Patrick leads him into the shower after that where they waste a considerable amount of hot water together. And well, Patrick can think of worse ways to start every morning.

 

\--

 

A week later Patrick realizes that Pete has been human for an entire month. He’s both suddenly relieved and anxious at the discovery. If Pete were going to change back, he probably already would have by now, Patrick reasons. And at the same time he worries that maybe Pete is getting sick of being on land, now that he’s lived as a human for a month.

Patrick is almost ill at the thought. Pete has become everything to him. He doesn’t ever want to give him up, yet he knows it’s selfish of him to keep him here forever, away from his home.

It’s just too much to really handle, especially when Pete corners him in the kitchen a minute later and Patrick ends up fucking him against the counter.

 

\--

 

Patrick hesitantly makes a dinner date with William. He wants to take Patrick and Pete out to “celebrate the newlyweds”. Patrick isn’t so sure that Pete being around William is a good idea, but when he finds out Joe is also going to be there, he looks at it more as a guys-night-out kind of thing as opposed to him bringing his ex-fuck buddy and his current boyfriend together.

Pete isn’t exactly thrilled with the idea either. He sits in silence until they’re parked outside the bar and grill that Joe and William are meeting them at.

Patrick reaches across the center consol and rubs Pete’s thigh.

“I don’t want him to touch you,” Pete finally says, looking out the windshield at the side of the restaurant.

Patrick sighs inwardly. “He’s not going to, Pete. He knows about us, okay?”

Pete looks at him for a long time before his shoulders slump a little and he’s leaning over to press his lips to Patrick’s.

When he pulls back he’s quiet again, while Patrick rubs his shoulder and presses small kisses to his exposed throat.

“Tell him you’re mine,” Pete says, voice low, against his ear. A sharp shudder runs down Patrick’s spine and he suddenly wishes they were back at the apartment. Then he almost laughs, because it’s not like he didn’t already have sex three times today.

Instead Patrick leans back up to kiss Pete’s mouth again. “I already have.”

Pete smiles at him and they get out of the car.

 

\--

 

William behaves himself, which isn’t surprising when he’s sober. He teases Patrick a lot though, which makes Pete’s eyes narrow and Patrick has to rub at his thigh to get him to relax a few times. He ends up folding their fingers together and resting them on the table in full view of Joe and William. Pete finally relaxes and starts to open up a little.

“What the hell is with that marina? Joe met Christine there and you met Pete.” William tips back the rest of his beer and shakes his head with a sigh. “Maybe I need a boat.”

Joe nearly chokes on his burger. “Yeah, kinda like the time you needed a moped, right?”

William snatches a roll from the basket on the table and throws it at Joe’s head.

By the end of the night Pete is drowsy and content; pressing himself along Patrick’s back as he tries to unlock the apartment door. “William’s nice,” he purrs against Patrick’s ear, skimming both of his hands around Patrick’s hips to slide into his back pockets and squeeze.

Patrick feels his dick twitch in his jeans. Seriously, three times. How it’s even possible he’s on his way to going again he isn’t sure. He hasn’t had sex four times in one night ever.

Pete mouths along his neck and squeezes his ass again as Patrick finally unlocks the door. He turns quickly and tugs Pete inside, slamming the door and pressing him against it.

One of Pete’s legs automatically twist around Patrick’s knees and he arches up, rubbing his already-hard cock against Patrick’s. He seems to sigh and moan at the same time while he pulls Patrick in.

They kiss wetly, hands pulling at each other’s jeans and shoving them down to their knees until Patrick pulls away and turns Pete around, sucking on two of his fingers before pressing them up inside of Pete. Pete howls, arching back against him.

Patrick nearly falls over in his haste to dig his wallet out. But there’s no condom in it. He swears under his breath and pulls his pants off. “We have to go to the bedroom,” he whispers, voice hoarse and throaty.

Pete looks back over his shoulder. “Why? Come on, Patrick, please.”

It takes Patrick a moment to actually tear his eyes away from the curve of Pete’s ass, the way he has his feet spread, the way he’s offering himself to Patrick. He swallows hard.

“Just come on, Pete, seriously, please.” Patrick’s not above begging.

“Why?” Pete’s voice is just this side of a whine, he sounds desperate and reaches back to grab Patrick’s wrist. “I need you, Patrick, _please_.”

And oh, Patrick _wants_ to, so badly. He’s always been safe, and he hasn’t even been with that many people. But… just. “No, Pete, come on,” he almost snaps.

Pete lets go and turns around, jeans still bunched around his knees and his erection jutting out. Patrick just wants it. He wants Pete.

He can’t wait. Patrick steps forward, drops to his knees and pushes Pete back into the door, holding his hips in place and swallowing his cock. Pete cries out, grabbing the back of Patrick’s head and trying to thrust forward. Patrick holds him down and draws his head back, laving his tongue over the head and sinking back down, sucking hard.

Pete groans, voice high and unsteady. He’s leaking already. Patrick swallows around the length in his mouth and Pete pulls at his hair. “Patrick,” he gasps, letting go with one hand to slam the other back against the door; searching for purchase.

It takes a few more hard sucks and Patrick’s hand pumping the base of his dick before Pete is arching up away from the door and Patrick has to pull back and let Pete come over the lower half of his face to avoid choking. Pete is panting heavily, sinking back and sliding down to the floor.

Patrick takes a moment to untangle Pete’s feet from his jeans and then reaches down to jerk himself off. Pete notices and takes over with a burst of energy and tugs him through the aftershocks.

They sit on the floor, breathing out of control for a few minutes before Patrick reaches up to lock the door and then stands on shaky legs. He grabs their pants and then pulls Pete up. There’s a slightly awkward silence between the two of them as they head into the bedroom. Patrick grabs his pajama bottoms and steps into the bathroom. He really needs a shower.

He waits at the sink, wiping off his face, until Pete pushes the door open and looks at him questioningly. Patrick pulls him down into a kiss that lasts until steam starts filling the bathroom.

 

\--

 

Later, when they’re curled up in bed together and Pete is fingering small locks of Patrick’s damp hair in the darkness he finally asks, “Why did you stop out there?”

Patrick doesn’t quite know what to say. He never explained the purpose of condoms in his sex lecture to Pete. He doesn’t know how to do so now without Pete thinking he’s got something. He makes a mental note to call his doctor in the morning to have himself checked out.

“Sometimes,” he starts slowly, “people aren’t always healthy.” Patrick feels Pete’s grip on him tighten. “I don’t think I’m sick, Pete, but if I was and didn’t know it…” he shakes his head. “I can’t risk giving you something.” Pete doesn’t say anything for a while so Patrick adds, “I’m gonna get myself checked out as soon as I can so we can stop worrying about it.”

Pete nods against his shoulder. “Is that why you stop right before we do it?”

“Yeah.”

Pete doesn’t say anything else, he just nods again and folds himself in closer, pressing a kiss to Patrick’s shoulder and closing his eyes.

 

\--

 

It’s three days later when Patrick has finally been declared clean and they have unprotected sex that Patrick finds Pete standing in front of the bathroom mirror pressing both hands against his stomach and his face looking strained.

Patrick laughs a little, unsurely. “What are you doing?”

Pete looks over at him and then down at his stomach before back at Patrick. “How long before I have the baby?”

And Patrick’s pretty glad that he had been leaning against the doorjamb because he almost falls right over. He reaches out and grips the other side, just in case, before stuttering out a, “What?”

Pete sighs, sounding put out, before turning to face Patrick. “I’ll have one now, right?”

Patrick just stares, eyes wide, for a long minute before he takes Pete’s hand and leads him into the bedroom to have another talk. Preferably sitting down.

 

\--

 

Pete is absolutely heartbroken when he finds out he can’t have children.

Patrick apologizes profusely for not making it clearer to Pete when they first talked about human reproduction and Pete forgives him. But it still doesn’t make him feel any better. He hides out on the deck for a few hours and Patrick lets him be alone. Pete’s glad, because he doesn’t want Patrick to know he’s crying about it.

The tears don’t last long, but Pete feels an immediate and heavy sadness settle over him. Patrick had said before that he liked children, wanted them even. Pete loves babies, he wants them, wants his own to raise and take care of. But he’ll never have them in this body, in this relationship, because neither he nor Patrick can produce them.

He sniffs and wipes his nose on his hoodie sleeve, turning away slightly when Patrick finally slides the door open and steps out onto the deck.

Patrick sits down beside him and doesn’t say anything. He merely reaches over and takes Pete’s hand in his own and holds it.

Pete feels another urge to cry sweep over him and he hates it. He doesn’t want to sit here and be depressed about this revelation, but what else can he do? He can’t give Patrick something that he wants, something important. How can he ever really make Patrick happy? Why is he even here if he can’t?

He feels his lip shake and bites down on it, turning his head even further away before reaching up with his free hand and wiping his eyes. Patrick presses a kiss to the back of his other hand and it’s all Pete can really do to keep from climbing into his lap and just asking _whywhywhy?_ into his throat.

Instead he looks at Patrick, saying nothing and just holding onto his hand.

“Pete,” Patrick starts but cuts himself off, looking down and clearing his throat. If this is drives Pete away from him, if this is the other shoe and it has dropped, Patrick is going to implode on himself.

“I’m sorry,” Pete says when Patrick doesn’t continue. Patrick looks up at him and Pete continues, eyes watery. “I would give you offspring if I could. I _want_ to.” Patrick opens his mouth to stop him, but Pete pushes on, as if Patrick were going to tell him to just get out and go back to the water. “I’m sorry, Patrick. I don’t know what else to do.”

“Pete, stop,” Patrick tells him, standing and pulling Pete up with him, folding him into a hug. Pete clings back and Patrick can _feel_ his desperation. “I want you, okay?” He waits until Pete nods against him before continuing. “I want you more than anything, kids or no.”

Pete’s voice sounds as damp as his eyes had looked when he says, “Me too.”

Patrick leans back and Pete grasps both sides of Patrick’s face in his hands before sealing their mouths together.

Pete’s kiss is as desperate as his hold and Patrick returns it with equal force.

 

\--

 

Pete is completely worn out and warm in Patrick’s arms that night, naked and pleasantly sore, when he wakes up. Patrick is asleep on his side, one arm around Pete’s waist, the other under his neck. Pete is able to slide out of his grasp and into the bathroom without waking him.

On the way back to bed he does a double take on himself in the mirror and almost falls over. Not wanting to wake Patrick, he closes the door and turns on the light in order to be sure.

Pete can barely keep himself standing when he realizes that he’s looking at a small patch of light purple scales on his low back.

 

\--

 

The next morning Patrick does something he hasn’t done in over a month: he wakes up alone.

Pete is a viable human furnace when he sleeps and Patrick can tell that he hasn’t been in bed for a long time, because his heat lingers behind on the sheets and Patrick himself; seeing as how Pete is usually plastered to him throughout the night.

Patrick sits up, glancing at the open bathroom door to confirm Pete’s absence before he slides out of bed, tugging on a hoodie as he goes, and heads for the hallway. He finds Pete asleep on the couch. Patrick spends a full confused minute just staring down at him. He’s got the quilt that usually drapes the back of the couch covering him and he’s completely still.

The immediate worry that something is wrong blooms in his stomach followed quickly by the fear that if nothing is wrong right now, that it’s about to go wrong soon.

Instead of waking Pete he heads into the kitchen and makes a pot of coffee. Patrick isn’t much for eating the moment he wakes up but Pete can generally eat any time, so he quietly digs out the frying pan from under the stove and cracks open two eggs inside of it.

By the time he’s shaking salt and pepper onto them, Pete is standing in the doorway holding the bottom hem of his shirt and staring at Patrick.

“Good morning,” Patrick says, picking up the plate and handing it to Pete, who takes it with only his free hand.

“Hi,” Pete responds quietly, looking down at the plate and then back up at Patrick.

The sinking feeling in Patrick’s stomach moves on up to his chest when Pete puts the plate down on the counter and pushes Patrick into the wall, kissing him with both hands on his head, in his hair. Pete feels desperate, too desperate. It’s not the usual vibration of lust and want he gets when Pete touches him. It feels scared and worried.

He grips Pete by the shoulders and pushes him back. Both of them gasp in a breath and Pete fixes his gaze on Patrick’s neck.

It’s uncomfortably quiet between them for a moment before Patrick lifts Pete’s chin and forces Pete’s gaze to meet his own. Pete’s cheeks are flushed and Patrick notices for the first time that Pete’s eyes are puffy, evidence that he’d cried the night before.

“Pete, what’s wrong?” Patrick isn’t sure he was able to stop most of his fear from leaking into his voice.

Pete shakes his head. “Nothing.”

Pete has never lied to him before, Patrick’s certain of that. Pete is nothing if not raw emotion and completely open with Patrick. He shakes Pete a little, unable to calm the fear in his head. “Don’t lie to me, Pete.” Pete opens his mouth to speak but Patrick stops him with, “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Ever since Pete has known Patrick, even before he’d remembered how to speak and communicate with him, he’d known Patrick was his, was the one he wanted. Pete never wants to hurt Patrick and he can clearly see that he’s doing so now. Patrick is scared, but he doubts it’s as scared as Pete himself is. He’d gotten up twice during the night to find that the patch of scales on his back had expanded just slightly each time. He doesn’t even want to imagine what it’s like now that he’s actually been asleep for a few hours.

He doesn’t want to ever lie to Patrick, but he knows he’s about to. “I miss my brother.” Which is true, he _does_ miss his brother, but not enough to make him seek an alternative to the life he’s living now. He’s been searching for someone, for Patrick, his entire life. He knows his brother will forgive him for leaving.

Patrick’s face tightens and he loosens his grip on Pete’s shoulders to rub them instead of squeeze. “I’m sorry,” he finally says, finding his voice and forcing himself to speak. He’s been afraid of this, of Pete becoming homesick, wanting to leave.

Pete shakes his head and leans in further, kissing Patrick’s lips and then brushing his nose over his sideburn. He’s not going to say ‘it’s okay’, because it’s not. But that’s not the real issue here. The issue is the growing, purple area on his skin.

When Patrick slides his hands down Pete’s back, Pete moves away, sniffing and picking up his breakfast. “Thanks,” he says quietly, offering Patrick a smile and then heading quickly to the table.

Rationally he knows he can’t keep this from Patrick. He’s going to figure it out, probably by the end of the day. He’s going to want to touch Pete’s back, he’s going to see it when Pete changes, when they shower together, if Patrick wants to have sex with him. He knows this, but still, he doesn’t want Patrick to see until he absolutely has to. Mostly because he has no answers to give. He doesn’t know why this is happening, how fast it’s going to take, but he knows that soon, very soon, he’s going to be back in Lake Michigan.

Alone.

 

\--

 

Pete is able to hide for the day because Patrick mostly lets him be alone. He works on the computer, getting himself ahead in his work a few days, he calls his mom and Joe and generally tries to give Pete some space to deal with his homesickness. It’s not how he really expected them to take on the problem; he’d like to be there to comfort Pete, but Pete is jittery and doesn’t seem to want to be touched at all, so Patrick lets him be.

By the time the sun is setting Pete is mostly in all-out internal panic. His scales are spreading down the back of his right thigh and around the fronts of his hips. And just down below his ears he can feel his skin turning rough, like his gills are lurking just under the surface, ready to cut through again and force him to live in the bathtub until Patrick can get him back to the lake.

It’s a matter of maybe a day, Pete knows. He’ll be a merman by sundown tomorrow.

Pete locks himself in the bathroom and cries on the floor.

 

\--

 

When Patrick has exhausted all possible distractions he realizes he hasn’t seen Pete in a couple of hours. He knocks on the bathroom door, intent on asking Pete if he feels up to going out to dinner, when he hears the muffled sounds of Pete crying.

“Pete?” he asks, knocking and trying the handle. He hears Pete shuffle further from the door, but he doesn’t respond. “Pete, are you all right? Open up.” Pete still doesn’t say anything; Patrick hears him sniff and pull a tissue from the box on the back of the toilet. Patrick kind of worries that he’s about to be sick. “Pete, _please_.” He doesn’t stop any of the desperation he feels from seeping into his voice. If he can’t help Pete with this, if he can’t make him see that being on land with him is better than the water, he knows he’s going to lose him.

Patrick doesn’t think he can handle that.

The lock clicks but the door doesn’t open. Patrick opens it immediately and is on his knees on the cold tile beside Pete instantly, arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. “Pete, please—” he stops himself from asking Pete to not leave and instead presses a hard kiss to his temple and breathes into his ear, “I _love_ you.”

Pete seems to lose it then. His fingers dig into Patrick’s back, nails biting into his flesh through his shirt and he sobs, harsh, body-wracking heaves that leave Patrick clinging and fighting back tears of his own.

“Pete, shh, it’s all right.” But Pete shakes his head, pulling back and gasping against his hiccupping. His face is damp and his eyes are bloodshot. He grips at Patrick’s shoulders and shakes his head again.

“It’s _not_ ,” he gasps. “It’s not, it’s not.” He bites down on his bottom lip and presses his face hard into Patrick’s neck, still gasping for breath and shaking. Patrick’s just this side of panic when Pete shoves him back against the door, which slams shut.

Patrick’s head hits the wood hard and he sees stars for a few harsh moments before he’s able to focus on Pete’s hands clawing his jeans open. “Pete, what—” he tries to ask but Pete crushes their lips together. He shoves his pajama bottoms down and straddles Patrick’s thighs, laying himself at an awkward angle against Patrick’s slouched form. He grinds down, his cock hard against Patrick’s quickly-forming erection. “ _Pete_ —” Patrick tries again, but Pete kisses him silent.

“Just touch me,” Pete whispers desperately against his lips.

Patrick instantly reaches for his cock, but Pete shakes his head, grasping one of Patrick’s hands and guiding it to his thigh. “Here,” he clarifies. “Just here, remind me, show me, show me.”

Patrick doesn’t have any idea what Pete’s talking about, but he grips the hollows of Pete’s knees and pulls his thrusting form closer. He arches up as best he can, meeting Pete’s movements, rubbing their dicks together until Pete reaches between them and grasps both in his hand. Patrick groans and Pete surges forward, slamming Patrick’s head back into the door again and sucking on his tongue.

It’s painful and dry and Patrick knows they’re both being rubbed raw, but it’s pretty obvious how much Pete needs this. So Patrick rubs the fronts of his thighs and what he can of Pete’s calves and the soft, sweaty backs of his knees until Pete arches against him and comes with a breathless, choked cry and stills. Patrick reaches down and finishes himself off, splattering on Pete’s heaving stomach.

It’s messy but Patrick squirms until he can slide down onto his back with Pete perched over him, their stomachs wet and Pete finally calming, his head on Patrick’s chest. Both of Pete’s hands are wrapped around Patrick’s shoulders while Patrick’s slide up and down Pete’s back, attempting to soothe out the remaining shudders still jolting through his body.

“I love you too,” Pete whispers after a while.

Patrick’s back is staring to get cold now that the heat and sweat are dissipating, he wants to get up, but he doesn’t want to dislodge Pete either. “Pete—”

“I’m turning back.”

The next minute is almost like an out of body experience for Patrick. His heart skips a beat and his chest tightens. He feels a solid wave of memories wash over him, hit him all at once and he can see everything he and Pete have done and hear what they’ve said since the beginning. He feels his fingernails scrape on Pete’s shirt and his throat clicks when he swallows, barely realizing how dry it is. Patrick worries that he might pass out, but not enough to force himself to calm his breathing.

“ _What?_ ”

Patrick feels hot tears dripping onto his neck as Pete takes one of his hands and guides it to run down the back of his thigh.

Patrick knows exactly what he’s touching, doubts he’ll ever be able to forget the feel of Pete’s scales. And then Pete brings his hand up to his neck and brushes his fingertips against his waiting-to-reemerge gills.

Patrick doesn’t gasp or cry or scream, any of the other hundreds of dramatic reactions he’s sure he can have. He just shakes his head and pulls Pete into a hard, wet kiss.

This is everything he’s been afraid of since the moment he’d pulled Pete and his new legs up onto his boat.

He’s losing Pete while he can still touch him. It’s over, it’s all coming crashing down around him and he has to fucking watch it happen.

The tears come then, mingling with Pete’s when Pete sobs against his lips and tugs at Patrick’s hair with both hands.

They don’t move for a long time.

 

\--

 

They fuck twice when they get into bed. Both times it’s frantic, hard and deep with their mouths sealed together and Patrick’s hips as close to Pete’s as they can get. Pete doesn’t loosen the hold of his legs to let Patrick thrust, he keeps them pressed against one another, Patrick grinding in and rocking together until they both come.

Pete doesn’t want to fall asleep at all, but he’s worn out from crying and not sleeping the night before. Patrick holds him from behind, as tight as he can.

Pete dreams, just once; of the moon, of his family and what is happening to him. He sees his brother. His parents are long-since dead, killed by hunters, but his brother is safe. He can almost feel the warm, teal water of his home around him. He sees himself in his natural state and he sees Patrick. He sees the choice before him but not how either option pans out.

He wakes up shaking and damp with sweat halfway through the night and he pulls Patrick on top of him. They fuck again, slow and paced, Patrick barely awake even through his arousal. It takes him a long time to get off, but it takes Pete mere minutes. He’s over-stretched and sensitive but he holds Patrick to him, arching up and moaning in his ear that he loves him; afraid that this time might be the last.

Patrick pins him to the bed when he comes, kissing at Pete’s lips and falling back asleep, half on top of him. Pete is grateful for the weight; feeling physically held down where he is. He clings to Patrick, breathing against his neck, wishing that that was enough to keep him here.

He knows it’s not.

 

\--

 

When they wake up the next morning, Pete is afraid to even look at himself. His hips ache worse than they ever have. His thighs feel tight and over-taxed as though he’s run too much. Patrick pulls the covers back when Pete can’t seem to make his hands listen to muscle commands and do it himself.

Scales cover his thighs and most of his calves. The backs of his thighs are starting to grow together. It’s unnatural for either species and Pete is almost sick at the sight. He knows he won’t be able to walk like this.

Tears begin building in his eyes and he realizes suddenly how difficult breathing is. He reaches up a shaking hand and runs his fingers over the edges of his gills; they’ve almost completely cut through his skin.

He turns fearful eyes on Patrick who just looks back, face pale and eyes damp.

“You have to take me to the lake,” Pete whispers, eyes finally over-running with tears. Patrick grasps the back of his head and pulls him in until their lips connect. Neither deepens it, Patrick just nods against him and Pete chokes out, “I can’t walk.”

 

\--

 

Thunder rumbles overhead when Patrick finally gets Pete down to the car.

He’s got Patrick’s favorite red hoodie on and a blanket wrapped around what’s left of his legs. Both of his knees are cracking painfully with the forced realignment his extremities are going through; it’s enough to keep Pete in tears the entire drive to the marina. Patrick holds his hand through it, both of their hands shaking and cold.

Patrick is doing his best not to think. _This is it!_ part of his mind is screaming, _you’re losing him, it’s over!_ But another part is trying to tell him that it’s okay, it’ll just have to be like it was before. But that’s not enough, he knows. It’ll never be enough, not now that he’s had Pete to himself as a human for over a month. Not now that they’ve spent every moment together, day and night and he’s shown Pete his life. Not now that they’ve had sex and Patrick’s had him in every possible way. Not now that Pete’s loved him. How can he sleep alone in bed after this? What’s he going to tell his friends and his mom who has just been informed of Pete’s existence? That Pete just left him? What’ll he do in the winter when the lake gets too cold and Pete has to migrate back to the dangerous waters of his home?

Patrick almost has to pull the car over to be sick and he forces himself to stop thinking of everything other than the fact that he knows he’ll do anything to be with Pete. Even if it means an entire body of water is separating them.

“I love you,” Patrick tells him when he puts the car in park. Pete looks at him, tears still rolling down his cheeks. “No matter what,” he says, reaching up to cup Pete’s cheek in his hand, “I’ll _always_ love you.”

Pete leans over and kisses him, whimpering when his knee cracks loudly, fingers twisting in Patrick’s shirt. “Me too.”

 

\--

 

It’s raining off shore. Patrick knows the marina is going to close soon; most of the remaining boats on the water are heading in, but Patrick continues on, Pete sitting on the floor beside him, bundled in the blanket and staring straight ahead.

Patrick stops about a mile away from the docks, the rain starting to sprinkle on the deck as he turns off the motor and pulls Pete into a standing position. The blanket pools at his feet and they both look down to see that Pete’s thighs have sealed together behind dark purple scales. Pete grits his teeth and holds onto Patrick’s shoulders as he lifts him carefully out onto the back platform and sets him down.

Patrick kneels down on the wet surface beside him. He grips Pete’s shoulders in both hands as Pete eyes the water just beyond. Patrick shakes Pete into looking at him just as the sky above cracks open with thunder and a downpour of rain. Pete lunges forward and grasps him, face pressed so hard to Patrick’s throat that for a moment Patrick can’t breathe.

“I don’t want this,” Pete gasps. “I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to go back.”

Patrick holds him, ignoring the way he’s being pelted with water from both the increasingly rough lake and the rain. “I’ll come back tomorrow,” Patrick says low in his ear. Pete just clutches him harder.

“It’s not enough.”

Patrick licks his lips and stops trying to be strong. “It’s not.” Pete shakes his head again but pulls back. His gills have surfaced entirely and breathing above the water feels foreign and it hurts his lungs.

“You have to go,” Pete says, glancing up at the still-darkening sky and increasingly hard rainfall. Patrick opens his mouth to speak but just ends up closing his eyes and breathing heavily.

This can’t be happening.

Pete sits up and strips off Patrick’s hoodie, tossing it up into the boat and pulling Patrick in. They kiss hard and fast until lightning flashes and Pete leans back. “I can’t come tomorrow,” he says hurriedly. “I have to go home.”

Panic spreads over Patrick’s face and Pete kisses him again. “I’ll be back in a week. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t wait for Patrick to respond; he pushes forward and slides off the platform into the water. The instant he’s fully submerged, Pete feels a shock of pain unlike anything else he’s ever felt before and he knows his fin is back in its entirety.

Pete breaks the surface and pushes his wet hair back before reaching up to do the same for Patrick. Patrick grasps tightly to his hand before kissing the back of it. “A week?”

Pete nods; crying while his face is wet feels entirely different than when he was above the water and dry all the time. He feels new and more than a little afraid of being a merman again. “A week,” he confirms. A strong push of his fin has him up within full touching distance again and he hugs Patrick tightly, kissing him softly once more. “We mate for life, Patrick,” he whispers over a rumble of thunder. “You’re always going to be mine even if you don’t choose to keep me.”

Patrick buries his face in Pete’s shoulder and presses a kiss there as Pete begins slipping down out of his grasp. “I want you forever,” Patrick says strongly so he knows Pete hears him.

Pete nods after a moment and pulls Patrick’s hand in, kissing his palm before turning and diving below the surface.

Patrick stares after him for just a moment, his glasses blurred and his clothes completely soaked, before getting shakily to his feet and doing the only thing he can; he heads back in.

 

\--

 

Pete had forgotten just how cold Lake Michigan is.

The moment he’s got his bearings back he sets off the way he came, months and months ago, towards the ocean. The trip took him a lot more than a week the first time, but he knows exactly what he has at stake, how important it is that he get this right. He won’t lose Patrick to _anything_ , won’t mess this up. But he has to head home. He knows the rules, he’s heard them a million times over since he was a child, he needs his family’s blessing.

Thoughts of hunters and sleeping, stopping for anything doesn’t even occur to him. He sticks as close to the coast as he feels is safe and just fucking _swims_.

 

\--

 

The fourth day without Pete is the worst Patrick’s ever experienced. He’d thought the first few hours were hard until he tried to go to sleep that night.

He’s lost track of the number of times he’s rolled over and reached out to pull Pete close only to find the bed empty. He’s cold and restless and after the first two nights, Patrick relocates to the guest-room-turned-office because he can’t stand to be in their bedroom anymore. He manages to fall asleep the third night simply because he’s too exhausted to stay awake any longer.

He wakes twice from nightmares about losing Pete in the lake and still finds himself reaching out into the darkness for Pete’s sleep-warm body. Patrick doesn’t actually allow himself to cry until he gets up the fourth morning with his hands fisted tightly in Pete’s pillow. He doesn’t remember getting up and getting it from the other room, but it’s just too much.

It smells like Pete; he feels like he’s already forgetting the naturally sweet way his hair smelled when Patrick would bury his nose in it. The fact that he needs to touch and hold Pete’s pillow, have it near him with the smell he knows is going to fade, and, if Pete never comes back, he’ll lose for good.

The tears don’t stop once they hit. He sits up on the side of the bed, clutching Pete’s pillow and heaving nearly-hysterical sobs into the pillowcase. It’s too much, the prospect of losing him. Too fucking much. What if he’s a merman forever? What if he never comes back from his home-waters at all? What if the very last time he ever got to touch Pete, he was crying and slipping from Patrick’s arms back into the water?

Patrick barely makes it to the bathroom before he throws up. It’s just too much to even consider.

He stays on his knees with his head against the wall, tear-tracks drying on his cheeks, making them stiff with salt, and sniffing absently. Pete loves him, he tells himself, he said he’d come back, he _will_.

It’s not over, for Patrick. Even if it means that they have to go back to the way it was before, with Patrick living his life out on the lake in order to spend time with Pete, he’ll do it. He’ll do anything to hold onto this, to Pete.

He just hopes Pete knows it as well as Patrick does.

 

\--

 

Joe shows up around three and Patrick is just sitting on the couch watching _Peter Pan_. He’s not really paying attention, holding the DVD case in his hands, occasionally opening and snapping it back shut; he’s zoned out, but not enough that he doesn’t hear the lock clicking.

He hits the pause button the second Joe’s head peeks around the door.

“Thank god, dude, I thought you were dead or something,” he says, stepping in and closing the door behind him. He looks around for a second. “I’ve been trying to call for the past two days.” Patrick realizes his phone must have died; he hasn’t seen it in days. “Are you watching _Peter Pan_?” he asks as he plops down at Patrick’s side and takes another look around the room.

Patrick knows it’s coming, but it still doesn’t stop him from dropping his face into his hands and successfully freaking Joe out when he starts to cry again when he asks, “Where’s Pete?”

Joe has been Patrick’s best friend since they were freshman in high school, getting their asses kicked together; they’ve been through a lot but he knows he can count on one hand the number of times they’ve seen each other cry. Collectively. “Holy shit, Patrick, what the hell?” He’s not exactly a beacon of serenity and calm. He rubs at Patrick’s back and reaches for his wrist to pull one of his hands away. “Dude, seriously, freakin’ me out. What happened?”

Patrick stops himself as quickly as he can. He’s surprised he still has it in him to cry anymore. This morning was a first for him, to cry until he vomited. He doesn’t want to make it a repeat.

It takes him a minute but he stops, rubbing hard at his eyes with the sleeves of one of Pete’s hoodies. It’s a little small on him, but it fucking smells like him and Patrick’s going to wear it until it stops; maybe even longer.

“He had to go home,” Patrick says when he clears his throat. The look Joe gives him clearly says, _I’m not an idiot, I know there’s a lot more to this than what you’re telling me_. But he doesn’t push much. He keeps his hand on Patrick’s hand and rubs a little again.

His voice is careful and quiet when he asks, “When’s he coming back?”

Patrick manages to keep the choking sob that rises in his throat back, but he sniffs loudly, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand; he doesn’t care how gross it is. He tries for nonchalant when he shrugs but he just ends up leaning into Joe as if he can maybe absorb some of his stoic strength through bodily contact. “He might not.”

It’s the first time he’s really allowed himself to deal with that thought. It’s crossed his mind several times since Pete left, but he’s always followed it right back up with the memory of the last kiss Pete gave him, with Pete telling him they were mates for life no matter how Patrick felt.

What if Pete _doesn’t_ come back?

Patrick’s pretty certain Joe’s arm around his shoulders is the only thing keeping him from rushing back to the bathroom at that moment.

Joe sighs quietly and rubs at Patrick’s arm, pulling him in and leaning back against the cushions. Patrick is always grateful for what a fucking amazing friend Joe is, but never more so than now, when Joe doesn’t press, doesn’t ask questions and most importantly, doesn’t leave. He stays with Patrick all night. And when Patrick gets up to go crash in the other bedroom, Joe follows.

 

\--

 

Pete hits the warm waters of home he hasn’t felt in, what feels like, a lifetime in the middle of the third night.

A jolt of excitement and fear shoots through him. He can’t _wait_ to see his brother, his family again—what’s left of it anyway—but he’s just too exhausted to pick up the pace any. He passes by sandbars and small underwater rock formations he thinks he’d know even if he were blind. The dead of night isn’t anything new to him, he’s swum these waters since he was born.

There’s a steam vent about thirty miles offshore the acts as a guide. He dives deeper when the water reaches nearly-scalding temperatures and follows it all the way down. It’s far too hot for humans or their underwater machines to get this close, it’s what keeps them safe and undisturbed. Not even the hunters know where they live.

Even through the darkness, his eyes can see small flecks of light as he draws nearer the ocean floor. The underwater mountain range, that’s too small to be seen from space, begins to rise up around him. Pete’s heart kicks up a notch, passing by the openings in the rock-facings where his people live.

They aren’t primitive but they aren’t advanced like humans either. Their Creator gave them light at the beginning of their species, two huge meteors lay at the very center of their community, they glow with remnants of moonlight. Pete heads directly for the smaller of the two.

It’s hard to see from down so far, but the sun has risen, the water getting just a tiny bit lighter around him. Pete breathes through his mouth on human instinct and frowns when he finds himself doing it. He doesn’t let himself think of the human world, or Patrick. He has to focus.

Slowly other members of his pod begin to emerge and head for the surface, out in search of food, to just swim around. No one takes any notice of Pete as he waits as close to the smaller meteor as he’s allowed to get. His brother has to come this way to reach the vent. It’s how they’ve done it since they were kids, nearly every single day; they get as close as possible to the scalding water and ride the force to the surface.

He hasn’t seen his brother in over a year, but he knows, he _hopes_ he hasn’t changed his—their routine.

It takes him by surprise when he hears his given name and turns to see his brother approaching fast; he hasn’t been anyone other than Pete for so long. A moment later he’s got his arms full of dark green scales and tan skin. He holds on and doesn’t let go, pressing his face down into his brother’s neck.

Time feels frozen, Pete has no idea how long they stay like that, his brother gripping him, not yet asking all the questions Pete knows are coming, just needing to touch him again. Pete whispers, “I missed you.” into his ear and it only causes him to hang on tighter. Pete would cry if he thought he had the energy for it, but he doesn’t bother. He’s got what he needs right now, it’s not worth it to expend for tears.

It isn’t until his brother pulls back, gripping both of his arms and looking more pained than Pete thought possible that he realizes everything that he fled from when he left. This is his brother, his only family. This is his _home_.

 

\--

 

On the fifth day, when Joe leaves and Patrick is left alone again in his utterly Pete-less apartment, he decides to take the boat out. But before he can even get himself dressed and out the door he has a panic attack.

He sees Pete in everything he touches and does, smells and feels and he knows with a certainty that brings him to his knees, breathless and fucking _terrified_ , that Pete isn’t coming back. Maybe he will, in the physical sense, he thinks, but he’ll never be human again. Patrick is going to spend the rest of his life mourning the memory of having Pete human. It’ll never be the same, never.

The pain in his chest nearly drives him to call Joe again, he thinks maybe he’s even having a heart attack, it’s so great. Wouldn’t that just be the perfect end to it all? He laughs and runs a hand through the cold sweat on his forehead and closes his eyes, forcing himself to take several deep, calm breaths. 

No matter what, he wants Pete. He knows this, knows he’ll give up everything to be with him. It scares the fuck out of him at the same time that it amazes him. He’ll never have anyone else like Pete. Patrick is willing to hold onto him at all costs, even if it means practically living on the lake again to enable it; and right now, it’s just two more days.

He reaches up a shaking hand and grasps the corner of the dresser and pulls himself back to his feet.

 

\--

 

Pete spends the majority of his final day with his brother and his mate, holding their newborn against his chest and staring down in wonder at the frail body. His fins aren’t entirely developed yet, he can’t swim on his own. Pete feels a pang of guilt, not for the first time, that he’ll miss so much, seeing him grow up.

It was a shock to find out his brother had even mated, chosen the female he wanted to be with and bore offspring in the time that Pete was gone.

His brother assures him that Pete did exactly what he had to do to survive, but looking down at the iridescent, shimmering fin, moving gently in the almost-still current around them, he can’t help it. He wants to see his fledgling grow, he wants to see him open his eyes for the first time. He wants to be there, here; at home.

But then he looks up at the vague, weak sunlight filtering down near the heat vent where he’s relocated to, needing time alone with his family, and thinks of Patrick; his human. He wants to be back on the surface, wants Patrick holding him, inside of him, everything. Then he looks at his brother’s son and feels a sharp pang inside of him, knowing that if he goes back that he will never have offspring of his own.

Pete trails his index finger slowly down the thin scales and holds the small body closer when he turns in his sleep, squirming closer to Pete’s chest and warmth; Pete drops his head to nuzzle the dark black hair. He wants this, almost more than anything.

But more than that, he wants Patrick.

 

\--

 

Pete is an entire day later than he said he would be. He nearly panics when he hits the Gulf of Saint Lawrence and realizes he won’t make it back. He prays and pleads with the moon to heed him, to just please, _please_ let Patrick come back the next day.

He settles down in a hot spot for the night and finally allows himself to sleep, curled up tight into himself and forcing his body to remember what it’s like to have Patrick hold him.

 

\--

 

That night, Patrick goes over to Joe’s. He’s spent the entire day out on the lake waiting for Pete, but he never showed.

Joe and Christine are fighting and she’s been staying with her sister for the past two days; Joe is a free man and opens the door to Patrick’s teary-eyed gaze with a smile. “Hey, I was just about to call you, wanna go to the bar?” And then he notices the unshed tears and his face falls tight with concern. He pulls Patrick in by the shoulder even as he asks, “Dude, you okay? What’s wrong?”

Patrick breaks down for the millionth time since Pete left. He’s never cried so much or so easily before in his life. It leaves him wondering what Pete’s done to him, if it’s some merpeople magic or some spell of the moon; but when Joe brings him a beer and sits beside him on the couch, all he can think of is how he wishes it was Pete next to him. He knows it’s just because he’s so fucking in love.

He wants to be sick.

“You’re freaking me out again, Patrick. What’s going on?” Joe curls his legs up to sit cross-legged, rolling his unopened beer between nervous hands.

And really, Patrick means to avoid the question, keep up the charade and continue leading Joe on, but all he wants to do is tell him the truth. When he opens his mouth what comes out is, “Pete’s not from New York.”

Joe waits a minute, because the sentence feels unfinished, before he asks, “So where’s he from?”

Patrick sinks back into the couch. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“If you say Mars, no I probably won’t, but other than that, try me.”

Patrick waits for Joe to take a drink of his beer before the truth just starts falling from his lips. Joe still inhales into his trachea and Patrick has to offer CPR to get him to breathe properly on his own. His face is red and his eyes are watery and, as Patrick continues on with what’s really been going on over the past couple months, increasingly raised eyebrows.

When Patrick finishes with, “And he was supposed to come back today, but he never showed up. I just don’t know what to fucking do.” Joe just blinks at him a lot.

Finally he says, “Patrick,” in a very patient voice as he leans forward to set his beer down on the coffee table. Patrick watches how his hand shakes.

“Please don’t say you don’t believe me. Even if you don’t, just humor me, okay?”

Joe’s gaze flies to his own. “Patrick, you sound fucking crazy.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

Joe rubs both his eyes with his hands and then leaves his face covered for a while. Patrick doesn’t say anything while he waits. He just sets his own, still-unopened beer, on the floor and wipes the condensation from his hands on his pant legs.

The silence stretches for a good few minutes before Joe sits back, staring forward and the blank TV screen and clears his throat. He talks without looking at Patrick. “You remember when we were fifteen and you thought your basement was haunted?”

Patrick does some confused blinking of his own before he actually manages to recall the incident in question. “Yeah.”

“You remember how we spent a week at Borders on the floor in the occult section looking through every fucking ghost book they had for exorcism rites?”

“Yeah.” Patrick isn’t sure where this is going.

Joe looks at him. “You know I thought you were full of shit, right?”

Patrick nods. “Yeah but you still helped me.” The ‘oh, duh’ moment hits like a ton of bricks and Patrick feels more tears building rapidly. He rubs his eyes instead of looking at Joe.

“So what makes you think I wouldn’t help you now?”

Patrick leans into Joe and Joe slides an arm around his shoulders, reaching up to ruffle what little of his hair is touchable from under his hat.

“I still wish you believed me, though,” Patrick says quietly.

Joe doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t threaten to commit Patrick either.

 

\--

 

Joe tries to talk Patrick out of going back to the lake. He had hardly slept at all the night before and whenever he did he had nightmares. But Patrick is determined; so Joe goes with him, not wanting Patrick to fall asleep and end up drowning himself or something. Patrick tells him he’s full of shit but Joe just says “mermaids” and Patrick lets it go.

It isn’t even eleven by the time they anchor out in the place that Patrick spent nearly two months of his life with Pete. He sighs wistfully as he steps down onto the platform where Joe is already seated, legs folded under him, staring off at the relatively calm water.

It’s going to be hot today. Patrick shifts in his hoodie and proceeds to take off his shoes and socks and slide his feet into the water. The lake has warmed up some from the almost-August weather and it doesn’t have the same biting sting that it used to.

Neither of them speak for a while, but Joe breaks the silence with, “How much longer are you gonna keep coming out here?”

Patrick sighs a little. “Joe, I’m _not_ crazy, I swear to god.”

“One week,” Joe says.

“And then what?”

“One week and then you call a therapist.”

“Fuck you,” Patrick snaps.

Joe turns, looking wounded. “Patrick, I’m serious. This is starting to freak me out a little. What’s it gonna hurt to just talk to someone?”

“If it freaks you out then just—” Patrick cuts himself off with a near-scream when a hand wraps around his ankle from under the boat and he almost falls into the water.

Joe steadies him, getting to his knees. “What, Patrick—”

But Patrick has already let go, his heart absolutely racing in his throat as he leans back over to look down into the water.

Slowly, a dark head of hair appears from under the rudder and then Patrick is blinking at Pete’s dark eyes.

“Thank god,” Patrick whispers on an exhale of air.

“What?” Joe asks, leaning over and just that quick, Pete ducks back down.

Patrick nearly falls overboard again. He sticks his arm down into the water, soaking his sleeve, but uncaring. “No,” he says a little frantically. “No, Pete, come on.”

Joe just keeps staring.

It’s almost a full minute later that they both watch the dark-skinned hand sneak up and wrap around Patrick’s. Patrick pulls.

“No fucking way,” Joe breathes, sitting back and knocking his head into the side of the boat.

Pete’s head breaks the surface hesitantly, one hand still holding Patrick’s and the other gripping the edge of the platform; his eyes haven’t left Joe’s face yet. “Why’d you tell him?”

Patrick doesn’t stop looking at Pete. His heart has kicked it up another notch, he almost feels as though he’s going to be sick and his eyes sting from blinking back tears. It feels like he’s been away from Pete for a fucking lifetime, not just eight of the most excruciating days of his life.

Patrick reaches forward and turns Pete’s gaze to meet his own. Pete’s eyes soften instantly and he looks a little watery-eyed himself. Patrick tries to say “I just had to”, but all he gets out is a strangled, “ _Pete_.”

He’s completely soaked a moment later when Pete practically jumps out of the water, laying himself out on top of Patrick’s body, their mouths smashed together. Patrick’s hands skid along Pete’s back to his scales and then back up to his hair and shoulders. Pete just can’t stop touching Patrick’s face, trying to talk through the kiss but unwilling to pull away.

Joe just stares in shock.

 

\--

 

They don’t leave until late that night, heading back in just before the marina closes. Pete had kept his head in Patrick’s lap the entire time, Patrick’s hands in his hair, telling him about his brother’s mate and their son. He sounds wistful all the while and Patrick feels guilty that he doesn’t feel worse about the lack of childbearing organs in their relationship. All Patrick cares about is that Pete is back.

Joe gives them a few minutes alone to just kiss and touch one another’s faces. Patrick feels like Pete wants to take it further, but he’s torn between getting without giving and the fact that Joe is a few feet away tying and retying his shoes to distract himself.

He kisses Pete hard before he goes. “I love you,” he tells him, voice solid and fierce.

Pete just kisses him again. “I love you too, Patrick.”

“I’m so glad you’re back.”

Pete sinks down a little, nodding into the hand Patrick has on his cheek, nuzzling towards his wrist. “Thanks for waiting.”

Patrick pulls him back up into another kiss. “Don’t _ever_ thank me for that. I’d wait forever, Pete.”

Pete doesn’t allow himself to choke up. He just nods and squeezes Patrick’s hand. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

Pete sinks below the dark water with a sad smile on his face.

 

\--

 

Joe stays at Patrick’s house that night. When Patrick asks him if he’s all right with everything, all Joe says is, “This saves you serious therapy money.”

Patrick laughs and slugs his arm. He’s happy, so fucking happy, that Pete’s back, that everything’s all right, that Pete’s brother is still alive and well; but just the look on Pete’s face, the way they both know that things aren’t the same anymore is enough to make Patrick feel like shit. He wants Pete to have kids of his own, a mate that he can actually procreate with and sleep with every night. He wants Pete to have everything in the fucking world, but he just can’t give it to him anymore.

Joe sleeps in the office-bedroom with Patrick that night. “Are you okay, dude?” he asks into his arms, cushioning his head atop the pillow.

Patrick nods up at the ceiling. He’s quiet for a while and he thinks he maybe wakes Joe back up when he asks, “You still know that guy at the Secretary of State?”

“Hmm?” Joe mumbles. “Oh, Jon?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, why?”

Patrick just rolls so that his back is facing Joe and burrows down into the covers. “Nothing. G’night.”

Joe’s already asleep.

 

\--

 

Joe goes home the next morning and Patrick heads back out to meet Pete alone. And he’s more than a little glad, because the first thing Pete does when he realizes that it’s just the two of them is tug Patrick’s jeans down to his thighs and suck his dick into his mouth.

Patrick arches up, one hand in Pete’s hair and the other on the platform.

“Jesus, Pete.” His toes curl in the water as Pete rides the length of his cock, sucking hard and moving fast. It’s been way too long since either of them have done this. “You don’t have to,” Patrick tries to tell him.

Pete just hums and rolls his tongue over the head, pumping with his hand.

There is no way Patrick is going to last. He tightens his hand in Pete’s hair and tries to ease him back, but Pete just slides all the way down, grazing with his teeth just slightly and swallows when Patrick comes.

It takes a while for Patrick to come down, but when he does, he sees the tense look on Pete’s face and the way his fingers are white from gripping Patrick’s thighs. “Pete?” he asks.

Pete shakes his head and groans a little. He wants to squirm around, the heat of human arousal burning in his stomach. His body feels tight and turned on and there isn’t a damn thing he can do about it. He drops his head down onto Patrick’s thigh and pants uneven breaths into his jeans.

When Patrick asks him again if he’s okay, he just says, “I can’t come like this.”

Patrick’s cheeks flame with guilt; he never should have allowed Pete to touch him. “I can’t get you off at all?”

Pete shakes his head and closes his eyes. “Just give me a minute, it’ll go away.” Never has Pete wished so badly that Patrick could touch him. “Just a minute,” he repeats, shaking just slightly until Patrick soothes his hands over his shoulders and he allows himself to relax.

 

\--

 

On the two week mark of Pete turning back into a merman is when Pete tells him, “My brother gave me his blessing.”

It’s past sunset, the stars starting to sprinkle the sky and Patrick lifts his head to look at Pete, barely able to see him even this close. “To be with me?”

Pete nods. “And to live here.” He rests his chin back down on Patrick’s chest and taps his fingers on the platform. “I mean, I can’t in the winter, but…” he trails off. Neither of them want to think about Pete going back to warmer waters.

Patrick is silent a while, running his fingers through Pete’s hair repeatedly, it feels longer than before. When Patrick sits up, Pete lifts himself a little to place his arms on Patrick’s legs and meet his gaze. Patrick takes one of his hands and wets Pete’s gills with the other.

“Maybe if you could point out to me where you’re actually from I could find some place to stay for a week every month or something. Until you come back, you know.”

There’s a fairly strong breeze that blows the weak cloud cover away to reveal a new moon. Pete looks up at the light; only looking back when Patrick touches his cheek.

“You’d do that for me?”

Patrick bites back all the statements about how he’d do anything for Pete and he should know that by now. Instead he says, “You know I would. I love you so fucking much, I can’t spend the winter away from you.”

Pete gasps a little and sinks in the water, fingers tightening on Patrick’s legs. “Kiss me,” he whispers.

Patrick leans down to meet his mouth. The slow, lazy glide of their tongues lasts until Patrick pulls back and looks down at his cell for the time. “Shit, I gotta go, Pete.” He meets Pete’s eyes. “Tomorrow?”

Pete has a slightly dreamy look to him and he reaches up, twisting both arms around Patrick’s neck and pushing his face in towards his pulse. “Stand up,” he whispers.

When Pete doesn’t let go, Patrick struggles to do so, but manages, winding an arm around Pete’s waist to hold him up, but the lack of weight makes Patrick look down.

Pete shifts unsteadily on his feet.

Patrick nearly chokes on his own breath before turning wide eyes on Pete, who just smiles and holds on. “She needed to know you’d do anything for me.”

Patrick pulls Pete into a hard kiss, tears rolling down his cheeks and uncaring to even attempt to stop them. Pete kisses back, hands on Patrick’s cheeks and nuzzling into his hair when they break apart. Patrick is almost gasping for air, disbelief and shock thrumming through him as he clutches Pete against him.

“I—I don’t… _Pete_.”

Pete just shakes his head, pulling back to kiss him again. He bumps their noses together before saying far too calmly, “Take me home, Patrick.”

 

\--

 

Patrick means to call Joe and tell him that Pete is human again, is going to _stay_ human for the rest of his life, but when they get back into the apartment, Pete drops the towel he’s got around his waist and wraps himself around Patrick.

They don’t even make it to the bed before Pete is on his back on the floor with his legs around Patrick’s waist, crying out as Patrick pushes inside of him.

It’s too much, Pete hastily prepared and Patrick knowing he’s not going to last. But neither of them cares. Pete pulls Patrick down, their mouths meeting sloppily, breathing all over the place as Patrick’s hard thrusts knock the breath from Pete’s body.

Patrick tries to hit Pete’s prostate, tries to make it good for him, but it’s all he can do to hold himself up, to press their open mouths together, to get his hand down on Pete’s leaking cock and pull.

Pete doesn’t last any longer than Patrick. He arches beneath him and comes so forcefully that his voice breaks on a cry, over both of their stomachs mere moments after Patrick pushes in and explodes inside of him. His arms shake and Pete pulls him down, ankles still locked at the small of his back.

When Patrick starts to soften, he lifts up a little to slide free, but Pete just presses down. “Wait, wait… just stay.”

“It’ll hurt later,” Patrick tells him, wiping at his damp forehead and attempting to keep at least some of his weight off Pete. But Pete pulls him in again.

“Don’t care,” he mumbles, leaning up and sealing their mouths together again.

When they break apart and Pete finally lets him go long enough to pull out and slide off onto his side, Pete snuggles up to his chest and kisses him again.

“Why didn’t you tell me you could turn back?” he asks, running both hands over Pete’s back and pulling until Pete straddles him.

“I couldn’t. I’d already given up everything to be with you,” he says. “You had to prove you’d do the same for me.”

“And I did that?” Pete nods. “You’re human forever?” Pete nods again, a teeth-baring smile forming on his face. Patrick can’t help but smile back.

Pete leans down for another, slower kiss, tangling both hands in Patrick’s thin hair. When he pulls back it’s only to whisper “Forever” against his lips.

 

\--  
\--  
\--

 

After five years of being with Pete, who clings in his sleep like a dying man, Patrick’s not accustomed to waking up alone.

He rolls a little to look at the clock. It’s just after eight and over two hours before their appointment with the caseworker handling their adoption search.

He could still close his eyes and probably manage another half hour, but he needs to shower, desperately, after the previous night’s activities. Patrick hums a little to himself, stretching out on the bed before sitting up and heading into the bathroom.

It’s barely five minutes after Patrick steps under the spray of hot water before the door slides open and a slightly cold body presses against his back. Patrick smiles before leaning his head back and letting Pete kiss him.

He rolls his tongue over Pete’s teeth, where it’s eagerly welcomed, sucked firmly and then greeted by another. He tastes like coffee. Patrick groans and Pete’s fingers smooth down his stomach to wrap around his slowly-hardening cock.

“Morning,” Pete whispers against Patrick’s parted lips.

“Morning,” Patrick pants back, arching forward into Pete’s hand.

Pete grins, planting easy, chaste kisses along his cheek and over his mouth. Patrick responds when he can, Pete’s fingers gliding smoothly up and down, squeezing on the upstroke, thumb rubbing gently over the head.

Patrick reaches back, digging the fingers of one hand into Pete’s ass and the fingers of the other into Pete’s arm across his chest.

“Pete,” Patrick breathes unsteadily.

Pete murmurs contentedly against his mouth, brushing the tips of their tongues together lightly between their teeth before pushing up, rubbing his cock against the small of Patrick’s back.

It doesn’t take much longer for Patrick to moan incoherently and come over Pete’s fingers, spilling down the drain. He sags a little, knees weak from the pleasure and the steam; Pete holds him firmly, mouthing at his neck until Patrick turns in his arms and slides to his knees.

Pete moans throatily and buries the fingers of both hands into Patrick’s hair and holds on as Patrick sucks him down deep and hard, swallowing when he comes.

“Shit,” Pete breathes, pressing his forehead to Patrick’s, both of them soaked and sated. Patrick holds him with his fingers knotted against his tanned skin. “Love you.”

Patrick leans up the short distance Pete has on him and presses their lips together again. “Love you too.”

 

\--

 

Pete’s hand is sweaty and cold in Patrick’s the entire drive to the Child Welfare building. They’ve been at this process for almost a year now, trying to start their family, but any progress they’ve made has been impeded by Pete’s lack of work history and social security information.

When Pete had first permanently become human, Joe’s friend Jon—who works for Secretary of State in downtown Chicago—had given Pete a drivers license without questioning where he came from. Highly illegal, but it was a start. Through off-shore _businesses_ , Patrick actually managed to obtain a birth certificate, from South Africa, for Pete as well. And just two months before, Patrick drove out to Albany, New York with Pete for him to take a citizenship test.

They’d moved from agency to agency, looking for someone who would overlook the holes in Pete’s past and help them find a child, but so far, no luck. Even with countries outside the US, they were coming up empty-handed.

Pete sat rigid in the car when Patrick put it in park, rubbing both his palms along his pant legs and breathing just a little too fast.

Patrick just leans over and kisses his temple. “Come on, babe.”

Pete follows.

 

\--

 

Forty-five minutes later they’re sitting in the car again with a copy of their case folder in Patrick’s hand, the number to a new agent paper clipped to the front and Pete crying silently into his hands.

The pain of rejection only gets worse every time it happens.

Patrick tosses the file up on the dashboard and pulls Pete across the divider. Pete presses his tear-slick face into Patrick’s neck and fists both hands in his suit-coat. “I just want a baby,” Pete whispers, voice hoarse and broken-sounding.

Patrick’s heart beats a little faster as he closes his eyes against his own tears and leans his cheek against the top of Pete’s head. He doesn’t say _it’s okay_ , he just says calmly, “We’ll try again, Pete.”

Pete doesn’t respond, but Patrick doesn’t move until Pete’s face is dry and he’s able to sit back and buckle his seatbelt without his hands shaking too badly.

 

\--

 

Patrick calls Joe that afternoon, once Pete is asleep on their bed, and tells him the news.

Joe sighs into the phone. He’s been helping them out with this since the start; his frustration is palpable through the speaker. “I’m sorry, Patrick.”

“I know,” Patrick says quietly, rubbing his forehead. “Pete’s just… I don’t know if—I don’t know how much more he can take, you know?”

Joe doesn’t know, not exactly, but he can imagine. “Yeah. He’s all right though?”

“He’s asleep.” It’s not really the answer Joe was looking for, but he’ll take it.

“Are you okay?”

Patrick inhales a little sharply, the sting in his eyes is back and he rubs it away with the heel of his hand. “All right, I guess.” Joe makes a small sound and Patrick continues. “I really thought we had it this time.” He sighs. “I just want a kid with him.” He looks up at the ceiling. “This house has too many bedrooms, it’s depressing to walk by them all empty.”

Joe sighs this time. “I’m really sorry, ‘Trick.”

“I know, it’s okay, I guess. It’ll happen if it’s supposed to, or something.” Patrick waves his hand even though Joe can’t see it. “Think I’m gonna go lay down.”

“Call me if you need something.”

“I will.”

When Patrick hangs up he gets himself something for his head and strips down to his boxers and trades his button-down for a t-shirt and climbs onto the bed beside Pete. It’s early summer and the air conditioning is running to combat the heat. He slips under the covers and Pete grumbles a little at the movement, his eyes slitting open to look at Patrick. He immediately reaches out to touch and Patrick takes his hand, pulling him in closer. They kiss slowly before Patrick eases back and tells Pete to get under the covers.

Pete listens and moves sluggishly, nestling into Patrick’s arms, one of his legs threading through Patrick’s before falling back asleep.

 

\--

 

Patrick bought the new house out in the suburbs when he and Pete decided to try to adopt. It’s got two bedrooms upstairs and one master bedroom downstairs. They don’t often go up there because Pete had actually been hopeful enough that one of the rooms is decorated as a nursery in neutral greens and yellows and it physically pains Patrick to pass by.

When he wakes up, he’s alone again. Patrick has a sneaking suspicion where Pete is and when he heads upstairs, the third step from the top creaking and giving him away, he finds Pete sitting in the rocking chair by the window, staring out.

Patrick stops by the door and waits; Pete knows he’s there.

“If we were back home,” Pete starts, his voice calm but far away, “you and I would have three or four offspring by now.”

Pete rarely ever speaks of his old home and his pod. Patrick crosses the room and sits on the footrest in front of the chair, placing his hands on Pete’s knees. “Pete,” he waits, “look at me.” Pete does. “We just have to be patient. It can take years for regular couples to actually get a kid. You and I might have to wait even longer.” Pete nods a little and places both of his hands over Patrick’s; Patrick turns them up so their palms are touching. “We _will_ , Pete.”

Pete scoots forward and little and Patrick gets the hint, backing off so he’s lying on the floor and Pete lays himself out over him. Patrick holds him there until the sun goes down.

 

\--

 

In the morning Patrick talks to his lawyer and the new caseworker. He agrees to meet with Pete, Patrick and his attorney the week after.

Pete’s in a better—still subdued, but better—mood the next day, so Patrick calls Joe and invites he and his fiancé out to eat. Christine’s out of town, visiting her mom though, so Joe meets them at a bar and grill for an early dinner. Pete keeps himself pressed to Patrick’s side for most of the night and Joe just keeps shaking his head at them.

“You know, me and Christine have been together just about as long as you two have and we fight all the fucking time. I don’t get how you two are so—” he flails his hands at them a little, “—in love constantly.”

Patrick looks down at Pete, who just raises his eyebrows from his position on Patrick’s shoulder. “We’re guys,” Patrick says by way of explanation.

Joe makes and incoherent sound and takes a drink of his beer.

“When are you and Christine actually getting married?” Patrick asks. Joe chokes a little; payback’s a bitch.

When Joe’s eyes are watering and his face is red from coughing, he glares over at Patrick; his entire body is just screaming _don’t rush me_. They’ve been engaged for over two years and seem to have no plans to set a date. “When you two walk down the aisle, Christine and I will be right behind you,” Joe finally says.

Pete doesn’t respond but Patrick can feel how he stiffens. Patrick doesn’t know quite what to say so he just mumbles, “Fuck you,” and goes back to his appetizer.

 

\--

 

It’s a Saturday, but Patrick pays out the ass for his lawyer, so he calls his cell and leaves a voicemail, pressing that it’s urgent he get back to Patrick as soon as possible.

 

\--

 

Pete’s never been much of a drinker, even after he learned his alcohol tolerance. But tonight he’s a little buzzed and he’s warm against Patrick’s back, nuzzling at his neck while Patrick brushes his teeth.

Patrick laughs lightly when Pete’s fingers skim along the waistline of his pajama bottoms. “Let me spit first,” he grins around his toothbrush.

Pete bites down a little, but pulls away, yanking his own t-shirt up over his head. Patrick rinses his mouth quickly and barely manages to get his toothbrush back into the holder before following Pete into the bedroom. He slides both arms around Pete’s waist and pulls him in. Pete kisses him slowly, wet and deep.

“Been thinking about this all night,” he whispers, kissing and biting at Patrick’s lips.

Patrick leans in to suck on his neck, backing him up slowly towards the bed as he dips both hands into the back of Pete’s jeans. Pete gasps a little and arches up, grinding his erection into Patrick’s stomach. Patrick trails two of his fingers down towards Pete’s entrance and presses lightly testing the resistance.

Pete moans against Patrick’s cheek, attempting to spread his legs even further, but finding himself hindered by his jeans. “Off,” he breathes, “take them off, ‘Trick.”

Patrick’s hands push at the waist of his jeans and Pete eases back onto the bed, kicking them off and then pulling Patrick in on top of him. They kiss wildly for several minutes, Patrick working his pajamas off and rubbing up against Pete, working them to full hardness.

Patrick tugs lightly at Pete’s hair, pulling his head back and kissing him slowly, shallowly a few times. Pete whimpers and lifts his hips, his cock sliding between Patrick’s legs and Patrick closes his thighs around it. Pete cries out and surges up, thrusting his hips a few times, his erection sliding back and forth between Patrick’s thighs.

It doesn’t take much for Patrick to roll off of Pete and get to his hands and knees.

Pete follows instantly, pressing himself along Patrick’s back, biting and kissing at the skin between his shoulder blades while rubbing up against his ass the entire time.

Finally Patrick turns his head a little, face flushed, the beginnings of sweat appearing above his eyebrows, and tells Pete, “Come on, Pete. Now.”

Pete grinds in again a few more times before reaching towards the nightstand where a half-empty bottle of lube rests precariously close to the edge. Pete fumbles it a little before righting himself behind Patrick and sliding a finger in slowly.

Patrick gasps quietly, his head hanging between his shoulders. He breathes slowly, forcing his muscles to relax. They don’t do this often, but when Pete is like he is right now, Patrick wants to bend himself over the first available surface and beg for it.

Pete bites at his ass, soothing his tongue over teeth marks and working a little too fast up to three fingers. When he bumps Patrick’s prostate, Patrick reaches down between his legs and jerks himself a few times before clamping down hard, squeezing. “Now, Pete, seriously. I’m gonna come.”

The fingers inside of him slip free and he moans a little at the loss. But Pete is there, against him, guiding the head of his cock inside and all the way in on one careful, easy thrust. Patrick cries out like a wounded animal and Pete jerks a little, the sound jolting all the way through him; his toes curl.

“Patrick,” Pete breathes, his fingers tight on Patrick’s hips, holding him still when Patrick grinds back into Pete’s lap, trying to get closer; but there’s nothing more for Patrick to take. He whines a little, leaning his head down onto his arms, folded in front of him.

“Please.”

Pete leans in to kiss his shoulder. He never takes for granted when Patrick wants Pete inside of him. Usually it’s all he wants and needs to have Patrick on top of him, bringing him over the edge with a hand on his cock and Patrick’s dick in his ass, but this, taking Patrick, is something else entirely. He feels desired and like Patrick needs him as much as Pete needs Patrick.

Pete rotates his hips a little and Patrick clenches around him, causing Pete to dig his fingers in a little more. He moans throatily and pulls out a little. Patrick arches back into him almost instantly, letting an involuntary, “More,” slip from his lips.

Pete complies.

They build up a fast, hard rhythm that has their skin slapping together and Pete crying out as much as Patrick does every time Pete bottoms out. It’s too much, Pete fills him perfectly. Patrick groans, pushing back until he’s got Pete sitting on his heels and he’s straddling Pete’s thighs. Patrick works himself up and down, riding the hard length of Pete’s cock smoothly.

Pete’s fingers run up Patrick’s chest, pulling him back so they can attempt to kiss over Patrick’s shoulder. But when their lips meet Patrick pulls back and pants, “Touch me.”

Pete complies, wrapping both hands around Patrick’s cock and pulling. It doesn’t take more than a few thrusts before Patrick groans, sounding a little hysterical, and comes over Pete’s fingers.

Pete follows immediately, holding Patrick upright on his lap while he lifts his hips in a jerky motion and comes hard, biting Patrick’s shoulder and closing his eyes.

Patrick lays panting on the bed, sticky and too hot for Pete to seal himself along his back, but he doesn’t shrug him off. He reaches for Pete’s hand and folds their fingers together, tugging Pete even closer.

The sweaty skin of Pete’s chest slides a little along Patrick’s back as he folds himself around Patrick’s slightly smaller form and ghosts a kiss along his hairline. Pete purrs contentedly; Patrick smiles against Pete’s fingertips when he raises the hand in his own to his lips.

Neither of them have trouble falling asleep.

 

\--

 

It’s just after ten on Sunday morning when Patrick’s lawyer calls. Patrick asks a polite, “Hello?” even though the caller ID clearly states who it is.

Patrick’s lawyer says, “This better be good.”

“Good morning to you too, Alex.”

Pete shifts in his sleep and Patrick grabs his pajama bottoms off the floor, struggling into them as he slips out of the bedroom and heads for the kitchen. “I promise.”

“Well?”

Patrick pulls the coffee canister from its home on the shelf above the coffee maker. “If Pete and I got married, would it help us adopt faster?” There is radio silence for a while before Patrick asks, “Alex?”

Alex sighs. “Patrick, you can’t get married just because you want a kid.”

Patrick barely stops himself from slamming the coffee pot down in the sink. “I want to get married because I love Pete, but I’ve been putting off asking him because I thought it would slow down the adoption process.”

“Sorry,” Alex says, sounding taken aback by the absolute venom and ferocity in Patrick’s voice.

“Would it help?” Patrick asks again.

Alex is silent a while, thinking, before he says, “Probably. Gay couples already have a hell of a time getting a kid; if you’re married it’ll help prove that you two have a stable home life.”

Patrick breathes a small sigh of relief and then realizes how hard his heart is beating. “So, it’s okay for us to get married?”

“Go for it.”

Patrick’s heart kicks it up another notch and he finds that his hand is shaking so hard that he has to put down the coffee pot he is attempting to fill with water. “You’ll help us get a license?”

“On Monday,” Alex says. “Right now I have waffles on the table and the only thing on my mind if spending the day with my girls.”

“Thank you,” Patrick practically gushes. “Seriously, Alex.”

Alex laughs a little. “You’re something else, Patrick. I’ll call you tomorrow with the fruits of my labor.”

“And your fee.”

“And my fee,” Alex confirms before saying goodbye and hanging up.

Patrick sets his cell beside the coffee pot on the counter before turning and sitting down with his back against the cabinets below the sink.

Married. He is going to ask Pete to marry him.

 

\--

 

Patrick doesn’t waste any time once Alex calls him the next day and tells him that all he and Pete need to do is meet him at the court house downtown to sign the license.

He leaves while Pete is digging around in the backyard and spends the next hour and a half deciding between gold and white gold.

 

\--

 

Patrick intends to wait until the following weekend when the park down the road from their house is having an end of school celebration for the local kids and the fireworks are going off overhead, but he’s nervous all through dinner and his hands shake when he touches Pete’s shoulders, holds him in place for a kiss.

Pete looks at him worriedly but doesn’t comment until they’re sitting out on the back steps, watching the stars come out and listening to the crickets chirp.

“You’re fidgety.”

It doesn’t sound like the accusation Patrick feels like it is. Rationally he knows that, but _fuck_ , this is huge. This is something that will tie him and Pete together in the eyes of the state. Not that Patrick ever had any intention of letting Pete go from the beginning, but this is _legal_. ‘til death do us part and the whole nine.

Patrick’s hand is sweating in Pete’s and Pete looks down at it before Patrick meets the questioning expression on Pete’s tanned face. He gets even darker in the summer; Patrick loves it, the contrast between them when they’re pressed together without the barrier of clothes.

Patrick takes a steadying breath and leans in to kiss Pete slowly, taking the time to feel his lips and the way his tongue rolls eagerly over Patrick’s own and how he tilts his entire body towards Patrick. Everything about it, his body language and the feel of him, just screams of the want and desire he’s always had for Patrick.

It gives him the boost he needs to dig into his pocket with his free hand and absolutely fumble over his words when he asks, “Will you marry me?”

 

\--

 

Joe accompanies Patrick and Pete to the court house as their witness, along with Alex, who explains the process. Patrick’s hand is clammy when he signs the document; Pete’s shakes so hard that the first letter of his name looks more like an “R” than a “P”.

Patrick kisses him, holding his face with both hands and nudging their noses together until Pete smiles.

It’s the best Pete’s name has ever looked to Patrick.

 

\--

 

Pete is desperate under him that night, clinging with his legs around Patrick’s waist and his arms around his shoulders. He doesn’t allow Patrick room to pull back and thrust or even snake a hand down between them to pull at Pete’s cock.

He rocks as hard as he can with the limited movement he’s allowed and they make it work. Pete comes a lot faster than Patrick, his dick trapped between their stomachs, getting sufficient friction, but Patrick takes a while longer. He makes to pull out, but Pete doesn’t let him go. He tosses his head back against the pillows and tells Patrick, “In me; stay, ‘til you come.”

And he does, rocking faster as Pete’s legs loosen a little more, granting him more room to move.

When Patrick collapses down on top of him and kisses him chastely before panting into his neck, Pete holds him tight; his knees drawn up on either side of Patrick and Patrick still inside of him. It’s a little uncomfortable and way too hot, but Pete doesn’t move him an inch.

“Love you… so much,” Patrick whispers, biting hard at Pete’s ear before soothing his tongue over it.

Pete shudders and kisses Patrick’s forehead, easing his hands over his shoulders. “You too.” He falls silent a while before he murmurs against Patrick’s sweaty-smooth skin again, “You too.”

 

\--

 

Pete wears his ring from the moment Patrick slips it onto his finger. He loves the way it feels, his hand in Patrick’s, the glide over his skin when it moves, constantly reminding him of where he is, who he is and who he’s with.

It’s _everything_ to him, the meaning, the symbolism, that Patrick loves him so much that he wants it to be legal, wants to give that to Pete.

He spins the white gold band around his finger the entire ride to the Child Welfare office to meet with their new caseworker. He’s nervous, as is Patrick, he can tell by how stiffly Patrick sits in the seat beside him, but his hand is on Pete’s thigh and when he turns it palm up, Pete stops playing with his ring to take it.

Their meeting starts, surprisingly, on time. They’ve been to enough of these that they come mentally prepared to spend the next few hours waiting anxiously in hard lobby chairs with the sound of a receptionist typing as white noise.

This time, though, a woman with a pen stuck through the bun her hair’s pulled back into, leads them almost immediately into their new caseworker’s office. He stands, a broad smile on his face, and offers his tattooed hand out to each of them.

“Good morning,” he says, the tone of his voice immediately soothing and promising and Patrick feels himself relax just slightly. “I’m Frank Iero, I’ll be handling your case. Have a seat.”

Pete and Patrick both introduce themselves. Frank is already familiar with their file, their history with adoption agencies and all the necessary information about the both of them to start a request. All of which is new, Pete sits beside Patrick, looking a little stunned.

Patrick rubs his forearm and takes his hand. He adds, “We’re getting married this fall, if that makes any difference.”

Frank’s smile broadens. “It does. That helps, trust me.”

Patrick can’t help it when his gaze falls to the picture on Frank’s desk of himself beside a taller man, holding a little girl. His smile is practically splitting his face in two; Frank notices his interest. Another smile graces his face and he turns the picture towards the two of them. “That’s my Sophie.” The pride in his voice is evident.

Pete leans forward to look at it and Frank interrupts the question before it can even leave his mouth. “That’s my husband.” Pete and Patrick both look up at him and Frank turns the picture back around.

Patrick is quiet for a minute before he laughs a little. “I think you know what we’re going through.”

Frank nods and folds his fingers together on the desk in front of him. “Bob and I tried for two years before we were able to get her; and every time I look at her all I can think of is how completely worth it it was to wait.”

Pete rubs his eyes a little and Patrick knows that he’s diverting tears before they have the chance to fully form. He sniffs a little and Patrick reaches over for his hand; Pete clenches his fingers around Patrick’s and doesn’t let go.

Frank smiles and says, “I think we can make this happen.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a couple of people ask me about a supposed sequel but there never was one. Sorry, guys.


End file.
